


Shit Storm

by springburn



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Backstory, Emotions, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Hostage Situation, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Part one of a trilogy, Past Issues, Past Rape/Non-con, Psychological Trauma, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Tension, Trust, cuddlecore, growing relationship, relationships, sexually explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-05-28 13:57:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 75,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6331903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm Tucker hasn't been home......again......pulling another all nighter.....Sam decides to take him in hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is like the last one, 'Plus One', in that it is a different AU, from others I've written. It is also in the same vein as 'Pulling an All-Nighter'........  
> They kinda follow on, not from a story POV but as another alternative to how Malcolm and Sam finally get together. 
> 
> It's a subject that I find fun to write and explore. 
> 
> So hope you like it.
> 
> THIS STORY IS PART ONE OF A LITTLE SERIES WHICH WILL TAKE PLACE OVER THE SPAN OF A WEEKEND. FRIDAY TO MONDAY.
> 
>  
> 
> I have now reposted this as a multi chapter story which I will shortly be adding to. For those who prefer I have left the stand alone one shots on the dashboard. Anyone who has already read them can skip the first five chapters and start with the new ones as they are added. Otherwise the story can be read as a whole from the beginning.
> 
>  
> 
> The story will eventually form a trilogy. All in the same au and following on from each other.......Shitstorm........Shitehead Revisited.....and Malcolm Hamish McDeath.

SHIT STORM. 

The offices were quiet. The only sound being an insistent tap, tap, tap. 

Malcolm Tucker raised his head from where it lay on his desk.  
Shit! He must have dropped off. 

It was daylight. The tapping sound was a blue tit, pecking at the putty from around the window frame!  
Fucking bird! 

He sat up slowly. Everything ached, his knees, his back, but especially his shoulders.  
He bent is head from side to side experimentally, and winced. Running his hand over the stubble on his chin, he found his face wet on one side, where he'd dribbled in his sleep, and the imprint of the leather desk top marked his cheek. 

For fucks sake. He felt like shit. 

There was a knock, and the door opened slowly. Sam's head peeped in. 

_"Ah, you're awake! Have you not moved since I went home last night?"_ She entered, carrying a tray.  
Malcolm stood up and arched his back, his arms up behind his head,  
"Ow.....fuck!" He grimaced.  
His feet were freezing, having been sitting in a chair for so many hours, the blood supply cut off below the knee.  
As Sam crossed the room, he flopped down into his seat again. 

Eyeing the contents of the tray ruefully as she placed it on his desk,  
"What's all this?" He enquired, rubbing his cold hands together. 

_"Breakfast! It's six am and you need to eat."_

"What are you doing here at six am?" 

_"Taking care of you, apparently! I knew you wouldn't go home once the resignation was announced, so I made sure to come in early and be prepared! What's happened overnight?"_

"The fucking little dickwad has made a statement, citing political differences....then gone to ground. I've been talking to the press all fucking night, and preparing a speech for Tom to say in The House at Prime Ministers Question Time this morning. And he's on Radio Four's Today programme at eight.....being flayed with his balls in a humbler by John Humphries." 

_"So.....you've got time to have some breakfast and get yourself ready then!"_

"I guess. I need you to cast your eyes over the draft of the Speech....weed out the bad bits, let me have it back asap! What IS this shit on this tray?" 

_"Porridge with honey, fresh fruit salad, and some wholemeal toast, a bottle of water and a coffee."_

"Fuck that! Where's my muffin.......or a croissant?" 

_"You've got to eat more healthily Malcolm.....or better still.....just EAT! Cut out the Red Bull and the fucking Fanta.....it's liquid sugar! You need something inside you that will last and give you a bit of energy and nutrition, not a quick fix and late onset diabetes!"_

"You're just like my fucking mother....you know that? I don't pay you to do this shite....I pay you to be my PA." 

_"Yes, and P stands for 'Personal'! So that's what I'm doing, caring for you 'personally'! And you don't pay me half enough, so shut up and eat it!"_

Malcolm suppressed a wry grin , but then received a stab of pain for his trouble.

"Ow! Fucking fuck!" 

_"Now what?"_

"My fucking shoulder has gone into spasm." 

Without ceremony Sam moved round his desk and stood behind him, she began to knead his shoulders with her fingers, gently at first then applying more pressure as he groaned with the mixture of pleasure and pain.

"Oh Christ! Yeah, that's it! Just there! Holy shit! Sam.....not too hard! God that's good! You have healing hands!" 

The view of the back of his head, did strange things to her.....his grey hair, cut severely short, was irresistibly soft, darker at the back, with stubborn little curls along his neckline which she found extremely erotic.  
'Stop it Sam,' she thought....'he's your boss.....you're not supposed to be thinking about running your fingers through those delicious fluffy baby locks.' 

_"Malcolm! God......you stink! You need a shower and a shave."_

She opened the middle drawer of his desk and took out a black leather sponge bag. 

_"There's shaving and wash stuff in there. And deodorant. You can change clothes.......in the wardrobe cupboard behind my desk there are clean shirts in polythene from the dry cleaners, a suit and a tie, oh and a towel!_

_"Clean socks and underwear are in your left bottom desk drawer."_

"Fuck Sam....I need to give you a raise! Have you actually bought me underwear......?" 

_"Well, I'm hardly going to go through your stuff at home......it'd be like handling the Shroud of Turin! They're Calvin Klein, and I chose them.....so if you don't like them.......tough.....I had to guess whether you were a pants man, or a boxers man......."_

"And what conclusion did you come to?" He asked with an amused waggle of his eyebrows. 

_"I went for boxers......cotton.......I couldn't imagine you in briefs, and there was no way I was buying you Y fronts......just......well......just.......eww no!"_ She smirked, reddening slightly. 

"So that's what you do in you spare time is it?" He insinuated. "Imagining me in my underwear."

 _"Ha! Don't flatter yourself Malcolm! I'd be more likely to imagine you out of them.....with me spanking your bare arse to try to knock some sense into you!"_

"Humph!" He huffed, "Conjures up quite a picture!" 

_"Oh go have your bloody shower.....smelly! And eat that damn breakfast!"_

With a swish of her hair she was gone, but once back at her desk she couldn't suppress her mirth. 

By the time he emerged from his office, in clean clothes from head to foot, his face smooth and his shorn hair damp and combed, he looked quite different. Smelled divine.

"Aftershave is nice.....what is it?" He asked, coming to stand behind her, giving her a pleasant waft.

_"Penhaligon's! You like it?"_

"Mmm! Very much! How's the speech coming?"

_"Fine! I've scrubbed out the bit about screwing 'my Right Honourable friend' up the arse with the fat end of a snooker cue though......."_

"Pity.....I liked that bit!"

_"Might be better to say 'I admire My Right Honourable friend's integrity and for standing up for what he feels is right'......?"_

"Even though it makes him a cunt?"

_"Even though it makes him a cunt! Exactly! .......Where is he anyway?"_

"Fuck knows.....gone into hiding. He's not at home in Chelsea, probably gone down to his bolt hole in the Cotswolds.......the place with the duck house and the fucking moat!" 

_"I hate champagne socialists! Don't do as I do.....do as I say!"_

"Wow! Sam! Didn't have you down as a Thatcherite?" 

_"Bugger off Malcolm! I'm as working class as you are.....just because I come from 'Down South' and not from Clydebank, doesn't mean I'm one step up from a Blackshirt!"_

"I don't come from Clydebank! Philistine! Anyway, you went to Oxford!.......like that prat Reeder and his mob!" 

_"Yes....I did......and I went to a Grammar School, just like you did.....worked my fricking arse off, won a scholarship......Ollie went to Eton......his father was a QC......my dad was a plumber and my mum worked for the NHS. So save your bigotry for those who deserve it!"_

"Fucking hell. Raw nerves this morning.......you seeing anyone at the moment Sam?........Seriously! You need to get laid! All that aggression!" 

Sam threw back her head and laughed heartily.

 _"Says the man who hasn't had a shag since the miners strike!"_

"Ho ho! Touché!" 

Now it was Malcolm's turn to chuckle, he loved this easy banter with Sam.....they both knew nothing was meant by it, and they both enjoyed it immensely. It lightened the mood on a fucking miserable day, when there was really very little to laugh about. 

oOo

By the middle of the afternoon, when the worst of the shit storm had passed, Sam came in bearing tea and biscuits.

Malcolm was dozing on his chaise langue at the back of the office.  
She regarded him fondly.  
His jacket flung haphazardly across the back of his chair, shoes off, stripy socks. His long legs drawn up at the knees, hands wedged between them, like a small child. 

In sleep he looked serene, and Sam was struck by how much younger he looked when his face was relaxed.  
Almost handsome.  
So desperately tired.  
She decided not to disturb him, placing the tea cup down, she reached for a tartan throw blanket and covered him with it gingerly, so as not to wake him.  
His mobile was on his desk, she checked it.....she knew his passcode......there were no messages, she switched it to silent. Took his Blackberry.......she'd keep it on her own desk, keep an eye on it, field any calls that came through. 

Let him rest. 

As she made to retreat, his eyes snapped open with a little cry.  
Waking suddenly, and sitting almost bolt upright.

"Huh? Wassup?" 

For a moment he looked confused, not knowing where he was, but he rallied quickly, and rubbed his eyes.

"Fuck.....how long have I been asleep?" 

_"Not long enough Malcolm."_ She passed him the tea. Which he took and slurped gratefully.  
_"You should go home, get some proper kip......I can cover for you......"_

He yawned expansively. 

"Fuck it! I'm cream crackered!" 

_"You look it!"_ She sat down next to him after he'd swung his legs down.

"Fucking hell Sam.......what is it like to have a real life? And not a mere existence?" 

_"There is no 'real life' there's just 'life'!........Malcolm......can I ask you something? Or rather, will you allow me to do something.....?"_

He looked at her suspiciously.  
"Fuck! What?" He responded sharply. 

_"At five o clock, will you leave this office.......with me......come back to mine......and let me cook you a nice dinner?"_

He frowned, held her gaze, but coloured slightly.

"I'm not helpless! I can cook you know......I do......sometimes......when I'm.....when I'm....."

_"When you're not here.....working.....when you're not so bloody exhausted that you can barely stand up......when you can be bothered to cook for one person.......when...."_

"Alright! Alright! No need to make me sound even more of a lonely miserable fucking workaholic than I already am!" He sighed, with exasperation. 

_"Please Malcolm, just do this.....for me. Just put on your coat at a reasonable time.....and walk away. Just this once. I'm not so ruddy different from you! I'm on my own, and it's pretty soul destroying cooking meals for just myself......it would be nice to share, have a glass of vino maybe.....I don't know......watch a movie......switch off.......what do you say?"_

"Fucks sake! Okay then! You've won me over! No keeping me out late on a school night though....yeah?" 

Sam visibly brightened.

_"No.....absolutely! Ten o clock! No later......or it'll be like Cinderella.....you'll turn into a pumpkin!"_

He smiled......and it was refreshing to see. 

"You're a diamond Sam! You know that right! Best fucking PA in the world! I know I don't say it enough, but I do appreciate it......yeah?" 

Sam beamed back at him, her eyes shining, and his chest felt as if it would burst. 

She was so much more than that. So much more. 

Malcolm didn't like to dwell on it. What he felt for her. He hoped it didn't show.  
Did his best to hide it. 

All the things she did for him. Fucking well kept him sane.  
Always exemplary, in her work, in everything she did, everything she was.  
Smart, funny, clever, beautiful. Kind too.  
Got him out out of more scrapes than he cared to remember, always had his back. 

He fucking took advantage of her, that's what he felt, worked her too hard, and she always willingly went the extra mile, above and beyond. 

Why did she do that? 

Most would have told him to sling his hook!

Tried his best to reward her. Never forgot her birthday, or Christmas. Always something especially chosen, personal.  
Bonuses.  
Theatre tickets if he could get hold of them.....he didn't go......he guessed she'd take a friend. Table at a posh restaurant for her and her mates. Anything to thank her. 

Odd that someone as lovely as her didn't seem to date much.  
There'd been a couple of guys, but they didn't last. 

oOo

Sam's flat was small but perfectly formed.  
Wooden floored hallway.  
A nice open plan lounge and eating area. Modern kitchen.  
Up two steps to a fair sized bathroom and bedroom, and a small second bedroom which she used as a work room or study, just off the hallway on the other side. 

Malcolm was soon slumped on her couch, with the evening news on, munching on peanuts.  
Shoes kicked off, jacket slung on a hook on the hall stand. Sleeves rolled up, tie loosened and askew.  
He looked up to find her standing over him with a large glass of red in her hand.  
_"Anything about our Right Honourable friend."_ She asked.  
"Nope! All quiet on the western front!" He sipped the wine and nodded appreciatively. 

_"Good?"_

"An amusing little bouquet! I'm guessing from the left side of the vineyard......"

She ignored his feeble attempt at humour.

_"Dinner'll be in half an hour."_

"What are we having?" 

_"Coq au vin.......posh people's chicken casserole!"_

"Smells great!" 

_"You want pud? I haven't got anything except ice cream......"_

"Ice cream sounds great......what flavour?"

_"Chunky Monkey......it's Ben and Jerry's!"_

"Excellent choice! Out of the tub with two spoons though.....yeah?" 

Sam laughed......why was he so bloody adorable?

 _"If that's what you want! Have you chosen a movie?"_

"Nah. Been watching the News. What have you got? Not fussed as long as it's not a fucking chick-flick!" 

_"Shawshank?"_

"Fuck no! Seen it a dozen times! What else?" 

_"Imitation Game?"_

"What's that about?" 

_"It's new out.....Second World War......it's about Alan Turing.....and how he broke the Enigma code."_

"Oh yeah! Is that the one with Cumbers-Bumbers-Wumbers in?" 

Sam giggled. _"Yeah, that's the one!"_

"Okay......go for that one. Sounds good." 

Pleasantly full of delicious dinner. Couple of large glasses of wine and the best part of a tub of Chunky Monkey......eaten sitting shoulder to shoulder, their legs stretched out on a pouffé in front of them. His long ones, next to her shorter ones.  
Movie on........  
Malcolm didn't know quite what happened......or why.......or how....

But he dozed off.  
Mainly because he was so fucking knackered. Not because of the film, the film was good.  
Fucking heartrendingly sad......but good.  
Nor because of the company, the company was fucking good too, the best. 

He opened his eyes after maybe ten or fifteen minutes.  
To find that Sam was snuggled sideways into his chest, her legs now curled up under her, his arm wrapped around her shoulder, holding her close, as if it fucking belonged there, his head had lolled and was resting against the top of hers. 

Warm. Full up. So comfortable. And fucking blissful.  
Domestic......just........togetherness.......like a real couple......real people......and it felt so fucking wonderful that Malcolm wanted to cry.

Malcolm Tucker.......Dark Lord of Downing Street, was gonna start blubbing. 

Because he was doing something normal. 

Real life........she'd been wrong earlier.........there was a 'real life', and this was it. 

She stirred and raised her head.....looking at him.

Fuck! That look! She was messing with his head. 

_"Okay there?"_ She whispered. 

"Yeah!" Couldn't say anymore.

_"This is alright, isn't it Malcolm? You don't mind?"_

"Fuck no!" 

He sniffed. His eyes brimmed, but he wouldn't move, because it would break the spell. 

It was getting late.  
He should be going.  
Didn't want to. Didn't want to move. Ever.

Couldn't focus on the screen anymore, too blurry.  
Forced himself to speak. 

"So fucking tired Sam. Should really think about going." 

She didn't move either, just cuddled into his body a little more. 

Fuck. 

_"Stay."_

Silence as he processed the word. 

"Fuck Sam.....I'd love to, believe me.......but....."

 _"But!"_ She echoed, sadly. 

"Shit! I'm not sure what you want me to do....."

_"I don't want you to do anything. Just stay."_

The tears that had filled his eyes spilled over and coursed down his face. He did nothing to stop them. He barely even acknowledged them. Certainly didn't fight to control them.  
He blinked several times, refocused.  
She was sitting up, watching him intently now. The expression on her face was so sorrowful, filled with........with what exactly?  
Concern? Pity? Love?  
He wasn't sure. 

Didn't really want to analyse it. 

She cared......it was all he needed. 

Did she know how fucking lonely he was? 

How much he'd wanted this, so many times? 

She didn't speak. Just took a tissue from her sleeve, wrapped it carefully around her index finger, and dried his face gently.  
Then stood up and offered him her hand.  
Her fingers were small, delicate, a little gold signet ring there, nails neatly manicured and painted in a shell pink.  
She helped him to his feet, turned him and piloted him out of the lounge, up the two steps and into the bathroom.  
She pulled off his tie and began slowly to undo the buttons of his shirt. 

"Sam! No!" He whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. 

_"Hush!"_ She said, pulling it off his shoulders and down his arms, revealing his skinny chest. 

"Sam! I can't! Not with you......it wouldn't be right!" 

_"It's real life Malcolm, you wanted real life, and I told you.....you don't have to do anything. Nothing at all."_

She continued to undress him, and he stood motionless, as if frozen, allowing her to undo his belt, his fly, stepping him out of his trousers, a shiver running through him as she removed his pants in the same way, not even pausing to look at him as he remained exposed and flaccid before her. Then began to disrobe herself. 

So staggeringly beautiful. 

Fresh tears began to fall unchecked. He was trembling and he could not stop it. 

She turned on the water in the shower cubicle, tested the temperature with her hand, then reached for his fingers again, guiding him inside.  
He stayed stock still, letting the flow pound down onto him, washing the salty wetness away, hair plastered against his head, as he raised his face directly under the spray and closed his eyes.  
It was then he felt her arms come around him. Encircling his middle, her hands flat against his back, her cheek pressed into his sternum, as the water cascaded down over the two of them.

She didn't kiss him, didn't touch him intimately, she just leaned, close as she could be, holding him tight, and the spray baptised them both. 

It was almost spiritual.

Like nothing Malcolm had ever felt before. Eventually he relaxed, gave into the glorious sensation.  
Letting his head rest against the top of hers, the side of his cheek crushed against her. 

After a few moments more she reached behind him and shut off the tap.  
Swaddled him in a large snowy white bath towel, before wrapping one around herself at breast height, tucking it in under one armpit.  
Before he could set to drying himself off, she began to do it for him, with a tenderness that was profoundly moving, his eyes tracking her movement as she then did the same for herself. 

_"Put these on."_ She coaxed and passed him a pair of check cotton drawstring pyjama bottoms.  
He didn't ask where they came from, he didn't much care, he just did as she bade him, without comment.  
He continued to watch her avidly, as she divested herself of her own towel, pulled on an over sized motif T-shirt, covering her shapely form. Her movements were graceful, slow, almost balletic.  
Malcolm was in a dream. 

_"Come with me."_ She said, with a slight smile, taking his arm gently.  
He followed her almost blindly, stumbling with weariness and pent up emotion.

Climbing into her bed......soft, downy covers, not like his at home.  
Laying himself back, sinking into the pillows, opening his arms to welcome her as she crawled into him, curling herself against his bare chest with a gentle hum of pleasure.  
Her hair so soft beneath his nose, still damp, the scent intoxicating.  
Malcolm sighed deeply, closed his eyes.

This was what he wanted. This was his idea of real life. 

_"'Night Malcolm! Go to sleep now!"_ Her voice was drowsy, indistinct. 

"You'll stay here? You'll hold me?" He breathed.

 _"I'm going nowhere. I'll be here when you wake. You need to rest, you're completely exhausted."_

"Fuck. Sam. So alone. I have nothing. Nothing but a job that fucks me from arsehole to breakfast time. I fucking need this.....you.......really bad."

 _"You have me. Now go to sleep! We'll talk in the morning."_

He started to sniff again, burrowing his head into her. 

"Think I fucking love you. Shit! Shit! Shit!" He wept silently this time, trying desperately to hold it in.  
"I'm a fucking mess Sam. An empty husk of fuck." 

_"Shhhh!"_ She soothed. _"Let it go Malcolm."_

Her hand moved to his head, fingers scraping gently through his hair, and it was blesséd unction. Calming him, relieving the pain.  
He felt comforted, wanted.....for the first time in he couldn't remember how long.  
Fear assuaged, he began to gradually relax, a great feeling of heaviness creeping over his limbs, eyelids drooping as his breathing deepened and he began to drift.  
Soon his chest was rising and falling slowly as his slipped into a hazy dream.  
Giving a little jerk and a whimper from time to time, as he slumbered on.

 _"I love you too, you stupid idiot!"_ Sam whispered into his ear. 

He stirred very slightly, just a hint of a smile playing over his lips. 

"Mmmm!" He muttered, and snuggled closer. 

 

Fin.


	2. Real Life (aka Domestic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second part of the four part story originally posted separately, which I am now incorporating into a much longer story with a prompt I've received.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of this four part story which is now going to be added to.
> 
> For the original notes please refer to the original mini fic.

Work Text:

Chasing Cars. Snow Patrol.  
We'll do it all  
Everything  
On our own

We don't need  
Anything  
Or anyone

If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

I don't quite know  
How to say  
How I feel

Those three words  
Are said too much  
They're not enough

If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world

Forget what we're told  
Before we get too old  
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

Let's waste time  
Chasing cars  
Around our heads

I need your grace  
To remind me,  
To find my own

If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told before we get too old  
Show me a garden that's bursting into life  
All that I am, all that I ever was  
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see

I don't know where  
Confused about how as well  
Just know that these things will never change for us at all

If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

 

I heard Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol this morning, and it sparked the continuation. It fits so so well.

REAL LIFE.....aka DOMESTIC.

Malcolm woke with a jerk.  
Fuck! What time was it?  
He glanced sideways, nine fifteen ack emma.

Fuck! When had he ever slept that late?

His head was pounding, thick and woolly, like he'd slept too heavily......or could it be the wine?

On opening his eyes, his first thought had been wondering where he was.

What the fuck had he done?

He sat up.  
The curtains were still drawn. Giving a muted twilight, even though outside it was broad day.

Shit! Where was his phone?

There was a hint of delicious perfume in the room. It pervaded the bed linen, the pillows.  
His skin.

He took in his surroundings for the first time.  
Pleasant wallpaper on one wall. The rest a muted grey. Tasteful pictures.  
A dressing table with a silver mirror and all the accoutrements of womanly wiles.  
Makeup, nail polishes, hair brushes, straighteners, face creams......

His clothes were folded neatly on a cushioned chair.  
Lifting the covers he checked himself. Top half naked, bottom half in check pyjamas.

Fuck!

It was all a bit hazy. The movie, the wine, wasn't there a shower in there somewhere?  
Then falling into a glorious restful sleep.  
What had he done?  
What had he said?

He distinctly recalled tears.  
He'd been blubbing!  
And saying he was in love........

It was the truth of course......he was....

Oh fucking hell! This was a real mess.....he'd fucked up big this time.......really big.

Now he'd said it he couldn't unsay it. Didn't want to.....  
But he'd tied his own bollocks to the mast, she'd want no more to do with him now, he'd just contrived to lose the one little shred of goodness he had in his life. Extinguished the only glimmering beacon of light.

Fuck.

Leaving the bed, he went to the door, opening it a crack......listening.

Heart thumping.

Singing.

The radio was on......KD Lang.......Constant Craving.......and she was singing along tunefully.  
There were wafts of good coffee, the sound of crockery.

He took a deep breath, girded himself for the inevitable but kind rejection, padded down the two steps and headed along the hallway, bare feet on the wooden floor.

She turned towards him as he entered sheepishly......his arms folded protectively high across his bare chest.  
The wide smile she flashed him, made him swallow......and his heart beat faster still.

Jogging bottoms, and a vest top over a black lace bra. Her long hair piled up in a butterfly clip, little stray wisps curling down her neck.

So fucking beautiful.

"There you are!" She beamed. "You looked so comfortable, I didn't have the heart to wake you."

She continued busying herself, and when he neither spoke nor moved, she turned back to him again.  
"Sit!" She gestured towards the table. "Breakfast is almost done."

He ran a hand nervously over his stubbled chin, then through his hair, causing it to stand on end.  
She smiled at him again.  
"Bed head!" She said, fondly.

Malcolm stifled a yawn, and took a seat.  
"My phone?" He enquired.

"Don't worry, I checked it.....nothing's happened.....so you're safe for the moment, a few emails, but nothing urgent. You can relax for a bit Malcolm.......it's Saturday!"

His eyes followed her as she moved about the kitchen, to the stove, the coffee pot, and back again. Placing a cup in front of him, she trailed a hand across his bare shoulder, and he sucked in a breath sharply.

"You okay?" Her tone was slightly wary, a false levity she didn't really feel.

"Yeah." He sipped the coffee and nodded in satisfaction.

"Sam.....I........" He began.

"DON'T!" She snapped, sharply. Then immediately more gently, "Please don't Malcolm.....I know what you're going to say.........so please spare me........please don't say you shouldn't have.....and it was a mistake......and you didn't mean any of it......and it was all in the heat of the moment......and you regret staying.........please......please don't!"

"I wasn't going to!" He replied, simply. "I was going to say thank you. For everything.....and sorry.....probably the sorry bit first......."

"Oh!" She said quietly. Bringing a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, grilled tomato and a rack of toast.

"Are we good then........?" She asked, tentatively, as if she wasn't really sure she wanted to hear the reply.

".......because nothing happened.......just two good friends......we cuddled......we slept.......that's it.....we can easily forget it happened.....if that's what you want........never mention.......end of!" She continued......she was babbling........but she was so afraid, afraid he'd just up and go and everything would be different somehow.

But she saw him relax his shoulders a little.

"It's fine." He responded eventually.

So this was what she'd evidently decided. He thought. It hadn't happened. Brush it under the carpet. They would go back to how they were. No damage done. Well, that was something he supposed. Better than her hating his guts for making a prat of himself. Letting his guard down. Showing her his moment of weakness.

"Good! Tuck in then!" She sat down beside him gracefully.

oOo

So here he was.......fucking domestic bliss.

It felt so wonderful. No matter that it would all end after this. He'd have this at least. A moment to savour. To cling on to when he was back at home, on his fucking own again.

Sharing a, frankly, top class breakfast, on a weekend morning, with a beautiful woman he'd just spent the night with......well, not in the carnal sense, but you got the drift.

Malcolm Tucker felt as if his heart could explode.

"This is fucking excellent, I'm starving!" He remarked, a cheek full of egg as he shovelled the food in ravenously.

He glanced up at her over the last forkful. She was watching him carefully.

Swallowing his mouthful, he laid down his cutlery and sat back.

"What is it?" He challenged, more unsure of himself than she'd ever previously known him.

Samantha Cassidy had seen him fighting, claws and teeth bared, all guns blazing, back against the wall, giving hell, terrifying all in his wake.....and yet now......he looked like a lost little boy.

"You. Here. Finding it hard to get my head around it." She answered honestly.

"You and me both, sweetheart! You and me both! Fucking mental!" His expression was one of utter incomprehension.

"You're not sorry though? That you stayed? What you said last night, before you went to sleep?" She questioned him gently, head on one side slightly.

"Too late now! I've come out.......so to speak!" He grimaced at his own choice of words.

"But you meant it?" She probed.

"Yeah."

"You're in love with me?" She tried again.

"Yeah. Fuck......"

Malcolm felt as if he were under interrogation.

"You're sure? Only you've hidden it rather well......." She moved her chair a tad closer.

"Sorry......"

"Why are you sorry?" Her gaze never left his face.

It all came tumbling out in a kind of disjointed gabble, as if floodgates had opened.  
"......Because it's obviously unwelcome.......but don't worry, it won't be repeated!  
No doubt you've got strings of blokes your own age queuing up for you......and I'm a grizzled old fuck who also happens to be your boss......I just hope I haven't fucked everything up, with our friendship, just because I can't keep my fucking mouth shut and my feelings in check.....please tell me I haven't?.......I don't do feelings very well at the best of times......please say that you can move passed it? .........Falling in love with your PA is not what I do........falling in love with ANYONE is not what I do........and I'll completely understand if you want me to fuck off now, or if you wanna resign.......I'll just fucking swallow it down and get on with it.......because I'm a useless cunt, I know that.....and why would you want......."

She moved swiftly, shifting across, seating her backside into his lap, he held his hands up and away from his body, with a cry of indignation, to avoid touching her inappropriately as she very deliberately placed her legs on either side of him, thoroughly and completely invading his personal space.

His breathing became increasingly rapid, as she leaned forwards, cupping his face in her both her hands, her thumbs at the corners of his mouth. He strained his neck upwards, so that he was looking directly into her eyes.

"Dearest idiot!" She said softly, bringing her face to within inches of his. "You really think I wouldn't welcome your love? There are no strings of nubile young men, I assure you....and if there were I'd walk right on by. Because I'm not interested. I'm afraid I have to tell you that my heart is already taken, Malcolm....."

He swallowed the golf ball that appeared to be blocking his throat.

".......I've given it away......to a grizzled old fuck, who also happens to be my boss. I gave it to him a long time ago, although he didn't know it. It's always been his. Always."

"Fuck!" He whispered.

She nuzzled her nose against the tip of his.

"So I'm not about to tell you to fuck off, nor resign, and you certainly haven't ruined our friendship  
..........far from it. Being friends is what has made this happen, we became friends first, despite everything, and the love has grown out of that......that doesn't make you a cunt Malcolm, that makes you human. I've always suspected you might be......now I know!"

"What? Human?" He smiled slightly.

"Yeah.....a truly shocking revelation......Malcolm 'the fucker' Tucker harbours real grown up feelings!! Hold the front pages!"

"Sam?"

"What is it Malcolm?"

"May I kiss you?"

"Do you want to?"

"Fuck yeah!"

"Then I suggest you do!"

His lips touched hers gently, her arms came around his neck to pull him closer, there was a tremble running through him, and his eyes fluttered shut as they sank into each other.  
Neither holding anything back, kissing with increasing urgency, as though their very lives depended on it.  
When eventually they pulled back, both gasping for air, his eyes opened slowly again and they were wet.  
She noticed immediately, and bent forward again, placing a tiny kiss on each eyelid.

"Holy fuck! Sam!" He breathed.

She traced a finger along his clavicle, down his breast bone, circling first one nipple, then the other, causing him to suck in his abs quickly with a little gasp, then she moved back up towards his throat and chin.

"You're nothing but skin and bone Malcolm, like two towels on a toast rack." She mused, before repeating the exercise a second time, but lingering a moment or two longer.  
A flush of pink washed across his pale chest, the sensitive areola darkening with the rush of blood that made them harden.  
She felt his hips push up slightly beneath her.

"You like that huh?"

"Yeah!"

"What else do you like?" Her mouth found his again, alternately pressing against it, then backing away, until he was forced to chase her and capture her lips forcefully with his own.

"Dunno." His voice was ragged now, broken, and thick with suppressed emotion. "Haven't felt anything for so fucking long, I can't remember......but this.........I like this."  
He kissed her again.

His hands were splayed against her back, holding her tight, pressing her against himself, his lips trailing down her neck, tugging her ever closer, not satisfied that she was quite near enough to him.  
Fingers fumbling up under her top and releasing the clasp of her bra, one handed.  
"Nice move! You sly dog!" She giggled.  
He didn't reply, just quirked an eyebrow expressively.  
Leaning away from him, she stripped off both garments. Threw them aside.

"Fuck!" Was all he could muster, at the sight of her breasts, shapely, beautiful, her own nipples standing proud.

It occurred to him then, that she'd been naked in front of him the night before, that he'd shared a shower with her. That was like a hazy dream now.......years ago, instead of mere hours.  
He'd been so tired he'd hardly noticed, not really.  
So overwrought that his mind shut out everything other than the desperate need for rest and sleep, and peace.

He was overwrought now, but in a wholly different way.  
Hard as a broom handle. She can't have failed to notice.

Finding it difficult to keep from thrusting upwards, to feel a delicious connection with her core as she sat astride him.  
"Can I touch you?" He entreated, hoarsely.  
"I thought you'd never ask!" She replied, and allowed him to stroke her breasts with a reverence that she found almost amusing.  
"I won't break Malcolm." She whispered, and he strengthened the touch, causing her back to arch, and a moan of pleasure to come from her. He closed his mouth over her and sucked gently, she shivered, and ground herself against him.  
He pulled away then, sharply, with a stifled cry.

"What is it? Did I hurt you?" She was full of concern.

"No! Fuck! I'm really close Sam.......it's been a fucking long while for me."

"You're going to cream your trousers aren't you?" She whispered, with a hint of a smile, leaning herself into him again, letting herself rub against his length, undulating her body, giving him the delicious feeling of the soft cotton fabric against the tip of his shaft.  
He knew there was precum there already, but he was too far gone to care.

"Fuck. Yeah."  
He was thrusting upwards now, already loosing rhythm, his mouth falling open, a little wheeze in his breath, his brow furrowed with concentration, as he fought his body's primal urges.  
"Out of control Sam....losing my fucking reason here......"

To his surprise, she didn't seem at all disconcerted.  
Instead, she sat back on his lap slightly. At first, he thought, to allow him time to calm down, but no.....pulling the drawstring on his pyjamas she released the waist band, opening the trousers gently and exposing him.

"Oh, Malcolm.......is this what I've been missing out on all this time? Holy fuck!"

Her hand closed around his thickness, moving up and down gently, pumping him, using his own seepage as a lubricant.  
His head fell back in breathless ecstasy. Eyes shut tight.  
"Jesus! Holy Mother of God!" He cried, and his cock began to pulse in her hand.  
Semen spurted up and onto his chest and stomach, his balls and shaft contracting and throbbing, tears squeezed out from under his lashes and he continued to cry out, almost like a wounded animal, before his movement finally slowed and ceased, and he fell silent, slumped boneless beneath her on the chair.

She released him gently, leaned in over the mess on his belly, avoiding it, and kissed him deeply.

"Good?" She inquired, with a quirk of her eyebrow.

"Yeah. Fuck!" He breathed.

"But you? I mean I never even........and you're so, so beautiful......"

She placed a finger over his lips gently.

"Hush, Malcolm. All the time in the world!" She purred. "Later, maybe.....if you still want...."

"Don't even ask me that question!" He interrupted. "Fuck.....I want you so much it hurts.....but I was just so........so......."

"Turned on?"

"Yeah. Fuck!"

"How long has it been exactly?" She'd moved away now, fetched some damp kitchen roll and proceeded to wipe his front.

He watched her, almost in horror.

"Sam....you don't have to......"

"How long Malcolm?" She asked again, ignoring his protestations.

"Fuck! I don't even know! There were a couple of women after my divorce, but.....I don't know, I can't fucking remember......have to just rely on my own hand, and maybe a skin mag!"

"Let's get you in the shower.....then maybe we'll see what you can really do.....old man!"

She lead him by the hand and he followed meekly.  
In the shower she washed him all over, lathering his back, his prick, his stomach and chest, then allowed him to soap her in return, copping a feel of those wonderful tits, kissing her deeply, he couldn't get enough of her.

Out and dried, they tumbled into bed, his mouth on her body, nibbling, sucking, biting as she squirmed and whimpered. Driving her up, teasing her. Pausing, one hand on her thigh.

"May I touch you there?"

"Do it Malcolm, just fucking do it!"

"Ask nicely!"

"Please Malcolm......please.....touch me. I want you to."

It was the tip of his tongue that touched her, not his hand, and it made her groan with bliss....oh but this man knew what he was doing! Knew how to please a woman.....Christ on a bendy bus!

Again he asked for permission before entering her.....asked if he needed a condom......or if she wanted him to wear one? If not was she on the pill? Knew himself to be clean he told her.......so gentlemanly......it was not lost on her, it turned her on. Sam.....amazing Sam......the feeling of himself moving inside her, bare, so sensual, so fucking wonderful, she was coming, he was coming. Spilling himself......feeling as if his entire life up until this moment was fucking meaningless.

It was almost lunchtime.  
Her stomach growled expectantly.

Malcolm was asleep. Deeply and profoundly.

Pressed against her naked body. His head tucked beneath her chin.  
In a state of nirvana.

Peaceful. Sated. Happy.

oOo

An insistent drilling from his mobile made him sit up with a start.

Sam had already answered it.  
"Yes! This is Sam! Of course! Why wouldn't it be? I'm working, what else would I be doing? Yes, I know, it's your filthy mind! No, he's here, I'll pass you over!"  
She turned to Malcolm, and mouthed 'Tom's secretary'.

Malcolm took the phone, jammed it against his head and swung his legs out of the bed.  
"Unless Tom has declared war I'm not coming in!" Was his opening gambit.  
Sam watched him pace up and down the bedroom, as he continued the conversation.  
She saw all the relaxation of the last few hours leech out of him as he spoke. Barking into the mouthpiece, tension in his neck and across the temple. His other hand tangled in his hair.

"There's fuck all he can do about the resignation now, all that can be done has been done. The press have got bored with it, and all my emails this morning were about the up and coming Brussels meeting. He's old news.....today's chip wrapper.......no! I'm fucking up to speed on the Brussels thing.......because it's my fucking job that's why......and I don't need you to tell me how to do it."  
Sam arrested his walking by putting her arms around his middle, then cupping his arse cheeks in both her hands, by sliding them down inside the material of his pyjamas.  
Malcolm gave a strangled yelp into the phone, and tried to squirm free.....glaring at her smiling face in mock annoyance.  
"Yeah......sorry about that.....I just stubbed my toe! I'll be there at six on Monday morning.....and I'll have the speeches ready and the press junket done......no.....I'm not fucking panicking......I never fucking panic......it's other people not doing their job properly around me that do that!! Yeah....see you then.....now fucking leave me alone!"

He rang off with a flourish, and turned on Sam.  
"What the fuck.....fondling my arse in the middle of a call.....what's that all about?"  
"It was a distraction......you have an absolutely gorgeous backside........I've admired that little butt inside your suit trousers for many a day......and I wanted to touch it......and I can......so I did......sorry......not sorry......"  
Malcolm tried unsuccessfully to look scandalised.  
"So we return to the scenario of you in a men's shop, buying me pants......just exactly how MUCH time have you spent thinking about my arse?"  
Sam blushed furiously.  
"My client has no comment......." She giggled.

oOo

Domestic.  
What fucking normal people do. An ordinary couple.

Why did Malcolm find this so fucking brilliant? Why was it so significant to him?

He couldn't remember the last time he'd done anything like this. Even when he was married he somehow managed to live a separate life to his wife, most of the time.  
Since then, he existed pretty much in solitary. Never really allowing anyone close.  
His shopping......such as it was, was done online.  
Everything.

Now he was wandering the aisles of the supermarket.

Pushing a fucking trolley.

Sam was choosing fruit and vegetables. He watched her, mesmerised, as she picked out bananas, apples, grapes.....bagging and weighing them, before adding them to the rest.

He had no clothes other than what he'd worn yesterday.  
So, minus the tie, that's what he was wearing. Same suit, shirt, socks. For a few moments he'd considered going home to change.

Somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought that if he left her, it would all suddenly disappear into a puff of smoke....that it wasn't real, it was a dream.......and Malcolm couldn't reconcile himself to that.

Because he felt so fucking wonderful, there was a distinct ache in the pit of his stomach, that turned into a lurch each time he looked at Sam, or stopped to think too hard.  
It was a feeling of euphoric happiness, and he couldn't really remember ever having that sensation.  
Certainly not for a very very long time.  
There was a sense of oneness. 'At one'......that was the expression.......he was 'at one' with.....with everything!  
Inside he was an emotional wreck. A complete rollercoaster, and it washed over him from time to time, and he had to stop....take a few deep breaths.....and continue.  
Had Sam noticed how he was struggling?

Several times he caught her stealing a glance at him, her head lowered, then she would come to his side, take his arm, or touch his hand gently, or speak to him in that soft and reassuring way she had.  
And the feeling would pass.

They chose foods.......together, to make an evening meal......for the two of them. Wine to drink.....to share.

Malcolm bought a T Shirt, and a pair of cheap navy chinos.....bemoaning the fact that he never wore off the peg stuff these days. Some more socks and cotton boxers.

So he could change back at Sam's flat.......without going home.......because.....fuck his pathetic hide.......

........he didn't want to go home.


	3. Tempus Fugit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part three of the original four part story I posted recently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the original notes please refer to the original mini fic.

Work Text:

TEMPUS FUGIT.

Malcolm's dirty shirt, underwear, socks and pyjama trousers were churning around in the washing machine.  
He was resplendent in his new gear, which were a surprisingly good fit.

Shopping bags unpacked, sitting on a stool across the counter from Sam, sipping a cup of tea.

Smiling to himself.

"Malcolm you're grinning like a loon! What's going on inside that head of yours?"

"That I'm a lucky bastard. And if you'd told me on Friday morning when I woke up with my face stuck to my desk, that this is what I'd be doing the next day, I'd have had you sectioned."

Sam laughed, but then her face turned more serious, she moved around to his side of the counter and stood between his knees.  
Her hands resting on his shoulders. Their faces close.  
Her voice was soft, earnest.  
She had such a gentleness about her, a sincerity, and it reduced the ice in Malcolm Tucker to melt water.

"Real life.....that's what you said you wanted......I still say it's just life.......but it's whatever we make it Malcolm......and we can have this.......we can.......who's to stop us? Who's to even care about us? And who's business is it but ours?"  
She reached forwards to take his chin in her hand.  
"I love you......and little else matters to me right now......as for all the rest of the 'stuff'? It'll all still be there.......DoSAC, the PM, Number Ten, the press pack.....all that shit.......if you and I weren't there, it'd all still continue without us.....no one would give a monkeys after a couple of days. We'd be forgotten. Someone would step into our shoes......the new person to be strapped to the yard arm and flogged senseless would be, I don't know.....Ollie Reeder, or someone just like him......and PA's are two a penny. But we'd still have this......us........"

Her words pierced him, and his chin wobbled. Her eyes were focused on his, her expression kindly, warm, a slight flush to her cheek.

He drew her close to him, his arms snaking around her waist, hands clasped at her back. Laying his cheek against her breast, slight wetness seeping through her blouse. She stroked his hair, petting him.

"You have to allow yourself this Malcolm. You have to feel you deserve it. You do.....why should you not have love? Happiness? A life? I'm here for you.......okay? But only you can decide what it is you want, and reach out to take it."

He released his grip on her, looking up at her ardently as she looked down on him.

"I want you. That's what I want." He whispered.  
"I want......this! I love this!.......  
......Fuck knows why you love me......fuck knows Sam......I sure as hell don't.......and I keep telling myself, I'm setting myself up for one hell of a fall......no.....don't say anything.......it's true."  
He held his hand up to her as she made to protest.  
"You've no idea what you're taking on with me sweetheart......I'm a complete fucking car crash......I've got more demons than the whole of the Book of Revelations.......what scares me most is that I'll hurt you......and I couldn't bear that.......that you'll smash yourself to pieces trying to break through to me......because you're so sweet and good and kind.......and I'm just a solid ball of fuck."

Sam began to cry, quietly, listening to his bleak view of himself, how little self esteem he had. How vulnerable and insecure he was.  
Oh, she knew he had problems, but she didn't really know what they were. Nor understood the depths of them.  
Being with him would be a tough gig. But she'd known that all along. Loved him in spite of it.  
Would continue to love him. Hopefully would see him through it, and out the other side.  
Somehow. Together.

"I'm stronger than you think Malcolm. I have demons of my own. Everyone has. They are a series of hurdles......and we jump them......sometimes we make it over, sometimes we catch a foot and fall.....sometimes we have to go back, and try again.....but in the end.....we get there. That's life, that's reality. It is what it is."

oOo

They cooked together that evening.  
Music playing.....she warbling along, dancing around the kitchen, which made him laugh and that in turn, made her heart glad......he even joined in himself.......and Sam was surprised at his singing voice.  
Malcolm Tucker with a chopping board and knife, cutting up peppers and onions, Sam at his shoulder, stirring the pan.  
Paella.  
Pouring him a glass of wine, passing it to him, with a peck on the cheek.....which stopped him dead in his tracks. Made him blush, and become flustered......such a silly little thing.....but profound.  
She, washing a bunch of grapes under the tap, popping one into his mouth, as he concentrated on shredding and chopping a bunch of coriander.  
Seeing the look on his face as she did it........domesticity.........togetherness........he laid the knife aside, came to stand behind her as she stirred the sizzling pan, began nuzzling and kissing her neck......  
"Malcolm! Now? Seriously......!"  
Turning in his embrace, kissing him back , deep and with passion, pure bliss.

Curled together afterwards on the sofa. He in charge of the remote.  
Channel hopping. Finally settling on a spy thriller. Lifting his arm for her to nestle beneath.

Fucking wonderful.

oOo

She lay in bed reading, listening to him in the shower.  
He was humming to himself. She couldn't suppress a smile.

Emerging with a towel wrapped round his lower half.

"Where are those pyjama bottoms?"

"Kitchen......on top of the tumble dryer." She replied without looking up.

He fetched them, then stood beside the bed and whipped the towel from around his waist.  
She glanced up, to see his naked form, turning the trousers, which had been inside out.

He noticed her looking.

"See anything you like?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"Plenty!" She replied.

And was rewarded by his prick begin to rise in response.

"I wouldn't bother with the bottoms if I were you." She said, opening the covers invitingly.

He didn't need asking twice, tossing them aside he leapt into the bed beside her.

There was really no doubt about it. Malcolm Tucker was an accomplished lover. Skinny he certainly was, but when it came to his equipment, skinny he definitely wasn't.  
He had a lot going for him.......literally.  
Knew how to use it too. Soon had Sam gasping and begging for him.........and he knew just how to touch her, bring her close, then reward her thoroughly.

As their breathing returned to some semblance of normality, he rolled from her onto his back, with a satisfied grunt.  
"Christ Malcolm.......that was........amazing! God....I'm totally and royally fucked!"  
"Glad my old man hasn't lost his touch!" He said, patting his softening cock, with a chuckle.  
"I think you're 'old man' should be damn proud of himself!!" She laughed, turning onto her side and snuggling up to him.

They rested thus throughout the night, barely moving. So many days without proper kip caught up with Malcolm. He slept deeply again, something he very seldom did at home, and woke still entwined with Sam the next morning.

 

oOo

They shared breakfast again, but in contrast to the morning before, they were both much more relaxed.  
How quickly they seemed to slot into a routine together.  
Chatting easily about the upcoming conference, discussing emails he'd received. Talking like any normal couple on an ordinary Sunday.

No one would have guessed that for Malcolm, it was pretty much the first time in years that he'd done this.

As predicted, it affected him profoundly......again.

The weekend so far had been one massive emotional overload, and Malcolm was in serious danger of imploding.

He was sitting at the counter staring blankly into space, where Sam had left him when she went to dress.  
"Malcolm.....put on your coat......we're going out to get some fresh air. You can't stay cooped up here all day."

"I've got to work on my conference stuff......on my laptop."

"You can do that when we return, come on......we'll have a walk for an hour, stretch our legs, grab a coffee, then you can come back and get on with your stuff."

It was a chilly day. But bright.  
They walked, her arm tucked through his, close. Then his arm went around her back, tugging her closer still.  
Amazed at how good it felt, just to see her looking up at him, smiling.  
Buying hot chocolate from a stall in the park.  
Sipping it, blowing off the steam. He with a chocolate moustache, which he tried to lick off with his tongue, she giggled at his efforts, before she reached up to wipe the remainder from his mouth with a tissue.

Just at that very moment, a familiar voice came from beside them. Shattering the moment into a thousand pieces.  
"Malcolm? Is it really you?"

Sam could not believe the change that came over him, as he turned and saw Julius Nicholson standing there.  
His smile faded instantly. It was not embarrassment he betrayed. It was anger. He was annoyed. His whole body language altered. From relaxed and happy, to tense and uncomfortable.

"Julius!" He said tartly.

"And the lovely Sam!" Nicholson held out his hand for her to shake.

The three stood facing each other for what seemed like an hour, but was actually no more than a few seconds.  
Malcolm's eyes blazed.  
Sam wasn't quite sure whether to pretend it was all innocent, or if she should just say 'stuff it all' and front it, or whether she should keep quiet and say nothing at all.  
She and Malcolm had not discussed how they would deal with their relationship in the work environment, or with work colleagues.

"A pleasant day for a stroll!" Nicholson observed, with thinly disguised amusement.

"It is!" Malcolm responded lightly.

Sam watched him closely, hoping to gauge him and go with whatever he said or did.  
She marvelled at how quickly he mastered himself. His eyes flashed with quick intelligence, the anger gone.

"So....what brings you out this fine morning Julius? Looking for rough trade?"

"Now Malcolm, you know I only have eyes for you!"

"Ah! Sadly, you're too late my friend! There's only one person who has access to my perfect arse." He glanced sideways at Sam, who smiled cheerfully.

"I should have known I was wasting my time. But a fellow can dream!" He replied.

"Well, as pleasant as it is to stand and share gay banter with you, Miss Cassidy here and I, have work to do for the conference in Brussels.....some of us have to work at weekends as well as in the week.....so we must get back to it!"

"Ah.....the Director of Communications never sleeps, eh Sam?" He simpered.

Sam smiled sweetly, holding his gaze steadily.

"That's right!" She replied. " Day and night......I'm quite exhausted!"

Malcolm's eyes twinkled with amusement now. 'That's it sweetheart, keep the old bugger guessing' he thought.

"But she keeps me young......don't you sweetheart?" He continued, perpetuating the joke.

"You're such a jolly jester Malcolm. There's nothing between you two! Miss Cassidy is far too good for you, and far too sensible!"

"Why Julius! You've caught me out! You're too clever for me! Come on Sam, let's get back.....we have boring stuff to do......but if you're really good, I'll let you give me a blow job!"

Julius frowned in mock disgust.

"Oh! You're so good to me Malcolm." She responded.

They said their goodbyes and walked away, side by side, but before they were out of sight Malcolm reached out and took her hand in his.

"This'll give the old poof something to think about!" He grinned, looking down at her.

"That was quick of you, to cotton on, and follow my lead." He said, as she let them both into her flat once more.

"I hoped I got it right. I wasn't entirely sure where you were going with it! Whether you minded him knowing or not."

"Oh everyone'll find out quick enough. I don't give a fuck anymore if I'm honest." He replied.

oOo

Malcolm settled himself at Sam's dining table with his papers and laptop, and proceeded to beaver away conscientiously.  
Sam began to prepare dinner.

He found it most comforting to hear her in the background as he worked. Glancing up from time to time over the top of his screen he watched her moving about in the kitchen adjacent to where he sat.  
The easy grace she had, the way her hair fell forwards and she tucked it behind her ear. Her long eyelashes, her ready smile......fuck!

The weekend was passing too quickly.

Malcolm felt he was no longer the same person who entered that flat at six o clock on the Friday evening.

So much had happened.

He realised with dismay that he was not looking forward to Monday morning.  
Nor was he looking forward to leaving later and returning to his empty home, could he contrive to stay the night again, and go into work from hers in the morning?  
He had all he needed. Sam had washed his clothes.

Chin resting on his hand, he fell deep into thought.  
Glazed and far away.  
Unaware that she had come over with a cup of tea for him, and was standing behind him, silently.

"You don't appear to be doing much work!" She said eventually, when he made no sign of moving.  
He jolted out of his reverie, and blinked up at her.  
"Are you stuck.....or just distracted?" She asked, placing the cup beside him and leaning down to put her arms around his neck. Her face next to his, cheek to cheek.  
She kissed his ear and he tried to turn his head towards her.

He was in so deep.......he had no powers nor inclination to fight it, not anymore.

It had been so long. So, so long.

"Distracted." He murmured.

"Tell me." She whispered, moving round the front of him without relinquishing her grip, she sat sideways across his lap.

Malcolm sighed, gathering her in.

"Thinking about tomorrow. Thinking about going home tonight. Going over the fact that I've been here all weekend. And it's been so fucking brilliant."  
She stroked his cheek gently with her hand.

"What about tomorrow? You worried?" She asked.  
"Because you don't need to be. We either carry on as if nothing's happened, so no one knows, or we stick it out there for all to see. It's a simple enough choice, and I'll go with whatever you want to do."

"Fuck if I know! I don't want to fucking pretend Sam. I don't want to hide behind the bike sheds. We're both consenting adults, and it's no one else's business what we do."

"I don't want to pretend either. But I don't want to compromise your position in any way."

"There's nothing written that says I'm not allowed to date....as long as the person is security checked.....and well.....you already are! You'll get a load of stick though....and I'd protect you from that if I could."

"Stick? Why should I get stick?"

"Come on Sam......the age difference, the fact that I'm renowned as being the miserable fucker that everyone abhors.....and you're beautiful and young and a smart cookie......someone's bound to give you a hard time."

Sam scoffed.

"Let them! As if I care what anyone thinks. I wouldn't even have worked for you if I'd listened to what other people said. Fuck the lot of them! It's you I love, not them!"

She paused a moment to let her words sink in.

"You going home tonight then?"

"I should. Don't want to."

"Then don't."

"Fuck it all Sam....I'm just delaying the inevitable. You know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking that I'll leave here and it'll go all fucking Hogwarts on me.....vanish in a puff of smoke....like I've been dreaming and it's back to reality, I'll wake up. The whole weekend, all of this.....it'll just fade away. I'll see you at work and we'll be like strangers. And it's doing my fucking head in!"

He looked so desolate, pained. His face sharp and pinched.

There was pity in her eyes, and she leaned closer and kissed him with all the tenderness she could muster.

"You poor fucked up bastard!" She murmured. "Does that answer your question? Stay tonight. You have clean clothes. We'll grab breakfast on the way in, and we'll travel in early....together. We're a team now.....I love you......I love YOU Malcolm Tucker! I am in love with Malcolm Tucker.......and I don't care who knows. It's not going to be a smooth ride Malcolm, I know that.....but if we never try we'll never know."

He leaned into her and closed his eyes.

"Fuck it all Sam! I've had a taste of this now. It's like a fucking great carrot dangling in front of the donkey. I just want more. I don't want it to end. It's like I've seen the other side of the fence and I just want to stay there. It's been creeping over me gradually over the last year or so, what a complete load of shite my life is. I don't have a life. Just work."  
His hand twisted a lock of her hair, playing with it in his fingers.  
"Friday night something just fucking gave.....it was like a festering boil, waiting to burst.....and it just all came out. I'm so fucking solitary, so alone, all the time.....I have nothing.......not really, and sharing THIS......"  
He gestured around himself.  
"With you......it's been a fucking revelation Sam.......like something I gave up on years ago, when my wife fucked off and left me. When my whole existence went down the fucking tubes, and I built up my walls and I hid behind them.......and it's just got worse and worse, until it's out of control........."

Sam rubbed a hand across his head, through his hair, down to the back of his neck and held it there, causing him to close his eyes with bliss.

"Malcolm, you are not the product of your life, you are the cause of it. You've shut yourself off from all forms of human contact.....from love, warmth, tenderness......I'm amazed you've lasted as long as you have, without the need for therapy, or pills.....or something. No one can exist like that, and remain sane.......it's so destructive. Underneath it all you are a sensitive, loving person, who has a deep and profound need to feel wanted, to feel secure and loved. It's written in neon above your head."  
She placed a kiss on his furrowed brow.  
"I saw it in you straight away, from the first day I met you. I didn't fall in love with you then, but I saw that you desperately needed a friend, and I contrived to make myself into that friend. And how did you respond?.......I was the one single person you were pleasant to! You would bollock everyone else.....but never me. The more I did nice things for you, like bringing your coffee, taking your dry cleaning in, the more strongly you reacted to it. Do you see that now?"

Malcolm's eyes had widened as she was speaking, as the penny dropped and it dawned on him, that he'd fallen in love with the only person who was ever kind to him. Fallen in love with absolutely no hope of reciprocation, in his own mind.  
A hopeless love, a love which would have been doomed to cause him nothing but pain.  
Every single day, as he worked alongside her. Punishing himself on a daily basis.

"Fuck. I'm such an idiot." He breathed.

"Malcolm, you're human. You fell in love in spite of yourself, and I fell in love with you against the odds. You're older than me, you are not really my type, you can be abrasive and childish, but love didn't seem to mind that! It was going to happen at some point. Turns out you are just what I was looking for, I found myself comparing you to other guys I met! And they just didn't measure up! That's when I really knew. Then I had a real struggle on my hands.....because I knew that somehow I'd have to make you see.....make you understand.....and I knew it wasn't going to be easy!"

"Christ Sam. What a fucking mess. How can you even love me? I'm broken, I'm fucked up. I'm just a complete arse spray."

She kissed him again, thoroughly.

"You're deep, sensual, giving. You're honest as the day is long, you have integrity, humour, warmth.  
You are capable of profound and lasting love, commitment, you throw yourself into everything, balls hanging out, gung ho, nothing held back......all or nothing, regardless of whether or not you'll be hurt. You're brave, generous, heartrendingly adorable.......a girl is in real danger, Malcolm....need I go on.....?"

"Fuck! Am I all those things?"

"Yes Malcolm. That's why I love you."

"I don't have to go home tonight, do I? I can stay......go in together in the morning, like you said."

"Absolutely. You can stay whenever, and for as long as you want to....."

"Fuck! I'll never go home then!"

"Real life Malcolm......right now I think you need to get on and finish this press article....or you'll be for the chop and I'll get the blame, for turning your head!"

"Shit! Yeah, fuck!"

"Relax....silly, I'm kidding.......you have plenty of time yet. Dinner's on, we'll get an early night. I'll set the alarm for five fifteen."

"And you'll hold me......close......like you did last night?"

'Bless him......he needs it so badly,' she mused.

"Yes Malcolm," she said, smiling, running a hand through his hair and mussing it. "I'll hold you so close and never let you go......ever.......you're mine now!"

"Fuck! I don't think I've ever felt like I was anybody's. Maybe my mother......she loved me, when I was a kid.....I guess.....but my wife? Nah.....I wasn't hers, and she wasn't mine......it just wasn't the same.....but when you hold me.......it's......it's different. It's like a force of nature.....and I need it. I love it. Sorry if that makes me clingy. I'm not being clingy am I? You'd tell me......?"

"Malcolm......cuddling someone and liking it, isn't being clingy! And if it is....then I love it too.....you can be Velcro! It's nice!"

oOo

Rain beat against the taxi window, as it sloshed through the early morning London streets.  
Malcolm wiped at the condensation with his coat sleeve and peered out mournfully.

This morning his stomach felt as if it contained a bag of squirrels.  
He sat back and puffed his cheeks.

Sam's hand closed over his and gave a squeeze.  
"It's okay Malcolm. It'll be fine!" She looked into his pale face.

"Time's gone so quick. Wish we had another day......or two."

"Malcolm, you're going into work. Not to your own execution!"

"Yeah! Sorry. Another day at the fuck office."

"And no different to any other."

"Wrong there Sam. Everything is completely different. Might never be the same again. Not for me at any rate."

Sweeping into Whitehall, the cabbie pulled over beside the security gate. Malcolm fumbled for his pass.

"Well. Here goes. Once more into the breech, dear friends, once more!"

She leaned in and kissed him.  
"Love you. Now go and be magnificent!"  
They stepped out, Malcolm paid, and they passed through the police cordon.  
Once inside, Malcolm had barely removed his coat, before he was summoned upstairs for a meeting with Tom.....more crap for him to mop up......it was just after six am.  
"I'll get you a coffee for when you come down." Sam took his hand, pulled him close, kissed his mouth forcefully. "Go get 'em Tiger." She whispered.

Any fear Malcolm may have had, that once the weekend was over, everything would somehow disappear and fade away, proved completely unfounded.

Seated in Tom's office, with other cabinet members and civil servants, his phone pinged.  
He drew it out and glanced at it. Breaking into a wide beaming smile, that the others didn't fail to notice.

_"Don't take any shit! (Insert poop emoji with eyes) Twat the fuckery out of them, set fire to tears!  
(Insert a row of crying faces emoji's) I fucking love you Malcolm Tucker and don't you forget it! (Insert row of heart emoji's)._

Malcolm glanced up to find the others looking at him curiously.

Fuck.....he was toast!


	4. The Working Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part four of the previously posted story, which I am now adding more chapters to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the original prompts and notes please refer to the originally posted mini fic

Work Text:

THE WORKING WEEK.

_MONDAY._

Julius Nicholson, Lord Nicholson of Arnage regarded Malcolm Tucker with curiosity as he replaced his phone into his jacket pocket and mentally rejoined the assembled company.

There was a flush to his face and his eyes danced with merriment.  
What was going on?  
Normally so stern, dour even, angry and abrasive. This was a Malcolm he'd never previously observed.

The meeting broke up.  
Tom dismissed the group and they went their separate ways.  
"You won the lottery Malcolm?" He asked as they proceeded downstairs.  
"I have! Fucking Jackpot! I'm a rich man!" He replied jovially, and peeled away to return to his own office.

Sam had his coffee waiting.  
"Thanks sweetheart!" He said, and taking it, he disappeared into his own room. "I need an hour or so undisturbed."  
She nodded, and went back to work.

His phone began ringing off the hook and Malcolm was busy for quite a while.  
It was almost midday before he emerged again.  
By this time Sam had dealt with all the emails that required attention and was going over his drafts for the Brussels Conference.  
"All ship shape and Bristol fashion?" He enquired, coming to stand behind her. He rested a hand on her shoulder and gave it a little squeeze.  
"Yep. A few grammatical errors, but nothing major." She placed her own hand over his, caressing his fingers, then looked up at him and smiled.  
Malcolm's stomach lurched.  
"Fuck!" He hissed under his breath. "It is real, isn't it? Remind me Sam....."  
"Very real, Malcolm! Have you got time for lunch....we could walk up to Charing Cross?"  
"Yeah....why not, I've got an hour or so before I need to be back......meeting at one thirty yeah?"  
"Hang on, I'll check your diary........" She tapped keys on the computer and glanced at the screen. "You have the Energy Secretary at half one......he's going to the conference.....it's just a briefing. Then John Williamson from the Telegraph at three."  
"Shall we then?" He gestured to her, she swung round on her chair, fetched her coat, and they left together.

Julius Nicholson stood idly surveying Downing Street, from his upstair office window. He watched as Malcolm crossed the road briskly below him, heading towards the police security cordon, his fingers entwined around those of a certain Miss Cassidy.

oOo

"Do you need me anymore Malcolm? It's gone five?" He was sitting at this desk, his head resting on one hand, a pile of paperwork in front of him. Looking up at her approach he tried his best to smile.  
"Nah! You get off home. I'll be here for a bit yet."  
"Don't work all evening Malcolm.....there's no need, the stuff on your desk can wait until tomorrow."  
"I won't. Another hour or so and I'll be through. I need to go home....I haven't been to my house since last Wednesday."  
"You want to come to mine later?"  
He sighed, and rubbed his face.  
"Fuck it! Can't really, there won't be time.....by the time I get home and sort stuff out.....and I've got to be back here early tomorrow."  
Sam put her hands on both his forearms, and turned him to face her slightly.  
"Okay.....I'll see you here tomorrow, bright and early.....make sure you eat something later, okay?"  
She leaned in and kissed him gently, but he pressed himself into her desperately, returning her embrace with unrestrained passion.  
"Not sure I can stand this!" He whispered, breaking away as he ran out of breath.  
"It's one night Malcolm. You'll be fine. Call me later....?"  
"Yeah. I'll do that."

oOo

Letting himself into his own house was a serious downer for Malcolm Tucker.  
The place was chill and smelled unlived in. The fridge empty.

He'd bought milk on his way home, and whacking the heating up, he walked through to the kitchen to put on the kettle.  
The contrast between his home and Sam's cosy, comfortable flat, was stark.  
Malcolm flicked on the television, if for no other reason than to give some sound in the marked silence that seemed to fill the rooms.  
His phone buzzed. It was Sam.

"Fuck....hiya love! Was just gonna call you."

"You home?"

"Yeah, just got in.....Sam I fucking hate this....."

"What?"

"My house.....it cold and empty and you're not here."

"Oh Malcolm! Bless you.....you've managed alone all this time.....it's not so bad, and I've been to your house, it's lovely!"

"Yeah.....but everything's different now. It just highlights to me how fucking solitary I've been."

They spoke for sometime, until eventually Malcolm began to yawn.  
Later, once he was in bed, he received a text.

_"Sleep tight Malcolm, I love you, see you tomorrow!"_

_"You too darling. Don't like being in bed alone either! No one to cuddle up to!"_

oOo

_TUESDAY_

Very little sleep did not make for a happy Malcolm, early that next morning.  
It was pissing down with rain.  
He compared the nights he'd slept in Sam's bed. Soundo......the whole night.....didn't even get up for a slash!  
Last night he tossed and turned all fucking night, the bed was too damn big, he was cold, and it was empty.  
For fucks sake.  
How could he have got used to that in three nights.......and need it so much?

Sam arrived at the office moments after he did.  
She came bearing breakfast, which she brought into him on a tray.  
Malcolm was out of his seat, round the desk, with her clasped in his arms almost before she could set the tray down.  
Covering her with fervent kisses.  
"Sam! Sam! Fuck.......need you!"  
When eventually, he backed away, stopping only because his phone rang, he was breathless, flushed and had a very obvious erection.  
He barked into the phone briefly, then hung up.  
"Shit! Tom wants to see me." He breathed, visibly deflating.  
Sam straightened her dishevelled clothing from where his hands had wandered, and wiped a smear of her lipstick from his face.

"Can't go up to Tom with _'plum surprise'_ on your mouth Malcolm!" She said, and smiled at him.

"God, I missed you last night!" She whispered hotly, "I was thinking about you for ages before I finally dropped off."

"I gotta go....Tom's waiting."

Their hands trailed apart as he hurried out. She watched him vault the stairs two at a time.

"Morning Tom! You wanted to see me!"

"Yes. Have you completed the press release on the unemployment figures?"

"Yeah. Worked on it last night. But you could have asked Sam for that, she's got it all printed off."

"Ah, yes. The lovely Sam. A little bird tells me you two might be as thick as thieves. Is that right Malcolm? I find it hard to believe."

"Who the fuck told you that? I would have thought people would have better things to do than worry about my love life or lack of it!"

"Is it true though?"

"Is what true?"

"That you are an item? A little ménage a deux?"

"You should know better than to listen to office gossip Tom. Was there anything else?"

"You haven't answered my question."

"That's because it's none of your fucking business. Its like me asking you if you fucked your missus last night. I don't talk about my private life to you or anyone else. I don't confirm or deny anything that is my affair alone. And I don't pry into other people's unless it's a matter of national security. Now I'd be grateful if you let me get on. I'm expected over at DoSAC within the hour. And I haven't time for this."

Malcolm turned on his heel and swept out of the office.

Most of the rest of the day was spent at DoSAC. Malcolm bollocked Robyn.....mainly because she was such a fucking air head that she needed it.....seriously..... she was only good for making tea! Terri wasn't much better.......how could she possibly be in charge of Press Relations? A more useless and ineffectual tool, he'd yet to have the misfortune to come across.  
He likened the two women to Laurel and Hardy.

It was late afternoon when Malcolm returned to Number Ten. Sam was attending a press core meeting to take notes on his behalf, and the office was empty and quiet.

His phone rang again. Malcolm answered it, listened, then sighed.

Half an hour later he was at a well known London hotel, with Jamie McDonald, entertaining two visiting Foreign Dignitaries, with Tom, his secretary and a couple of random MP's.  
In the gents he took out his phone and sent a quick text.

_"Fuck my life Sam. I'm at The Waldorf in The Strand. No idea how fucking long. Can I see you properly tomorrow? If I don't I think I'm gonna go crazy. I love you so fucking much. M xx"_

The reply pinged almost immediately.

_"Malc. I'll cook for you, come to mine after work....bring an overnight bag in with you. Call me when you get in, doesn't matter what time. Please. I want you. Your Sam xx"_

It was half one in the morning when Sam's mobile finally trilled. He'd been up since five thirty.

oOo

_WEDNESDAY._

Another night of very little sleep, and Malcolm looked and felt haggard. It felt like years had passed since his blissful weekend with Sam, and he longed for her with every fibre of his being.  
His head felt muzzy and unfocused. An annoying buzzing in his ears. Which was nothing more than fatigue.  
When she came in with his morning coffee, he was seated at his desk with his head in his hands, bowed down.  
Sam crossed to him immediately and knelt down beside his chair.  
"Oh Sam!" He whispered and leaned down into her. She cradled his head, stroking it gently.

"Sweetie, you look so tired! Did you bring a bag in?"

"Yeah. It's over there." He nodded towards his office cabinet. She climbed up into his lap. Her legs slung sideways over the arm of the chair.  
Snuggling herself into his shirt. He nudged her head with his own, until she raised it, then he began to kiss her with a slow and sensual warmth, deep, his mouth almost begging for hers, a flick of his tongue which made her moan, and press into him.

Without warning, the office door was barged open, and Julius Nicholson walked straight in.

He stopped dead in his tracks with a little jolt, eyes wide with surprise.

Malcolm continued the kiss for a few more seconds, before detaching himself languidly and turning to his intruder.

"Don't you ever fucking knock?" He spat.

"I'm....I'm sorry Malcolm.....I didn't.......!" The peer stuttered, puce with embarrassment.

Still completely unconcerned, Malcolm patted Sam on the bottom.

"Hop down sweetheart, and make yourself scarce. Uncle Julius and I need to have a word."

Without hurry Sam swung her legs round to the front, and slid gracefully from Malcolm's grasp. She stood up, straightened her skirt, then turned back to Malcolm,  
"Later sweetie!" She said, and blew him a kiss.  
Then with an angry scowl at Julius she left the room.

"Malcolm......I" he stammered.

"You've been telling tales out of school My Lord!" Malcolm began, with quiet menace, rising to his feet and circling his desk.

"Me? What have I said?"

"A little bird Tom said......I'm guessing that's you......tweeting........not in the social media sense, in the chirruping sense."

"I may have mentioned to Tom in passing that I'd see you leaving the office on Monday........" He hedged.

"I'm going to say this nicely Julius.....because you're a colleague and an old sparring partner, and I don't want there to be any bad feeling.....but keep your nose out of my fucking private life. What I do is no concern of yours, and sharing tittle-tattle is beneath you."

"Malcolm, it was just an innocent comment, I swear.....you know I wouldn't......not to you....."

"What made you do it? Eh? Jealousy? I thought we discussed that a long time ago, when I told you, in no uncertain terms, that I wasn't interested in your dick up my arse."

"I apologise unreservedly. But I was surprised when I saw you two leave.....when I met you in the park, I thought you were having me on, it was a joke, but then......Monday.......now this....."

"Yeah well, it's no real secret......I don't give a shit who knows anymore, but I won't have Sam be the subject of discussions over the Cabinet table, by you and your 'lady' friends. So shut the fuck up about it Julius, okay?"

"Okay Malcolm. Shtum from now on. I promise."

 

The afternoon dragged on in an interminable round of phone calls and meetings.  
It was after six before Malcolm finally left his office, Sam was still sitting at her desk working.

"Fuck it! Sam....lets go.....before I go and stab somebody! I need to get out of this place!"

Her flat was so welcoming. Malcolm felt like he was coming home.  
Throwing down his bag he slumped down on her sofa with a puff of exhaustion.  
Sam nestled against him comfortably, and he let out a long sigh.

"Fuck, this feels so good!" He whispered into her hair, holding her close. Letting his eyes fall shut.

Malcolm came to with a start.  
The television was playing quietly. There was a smell of something delicious cooking.  
Sam was standing beside his legs, looking down at him with a little smile, she held out her hand to him.  
"Come on you.......come with me!"  
He dragged himself from the couch with a grunt of protest.  
"Must have fucking nodded off!" He complained.  
She led him down the hall and up the two steps into the bathroom. The tub was already full, there was a scent of.....he wasn't sure, lavender? Rosemary? Something vaguely herbal.  
"Clothes off! And in!" She said, turning him to face her, and placing a kiss on his ready lips.

He stripped himself obediently and stepped in, lowering himself down into the warm water slowly with a groan of ecstasy.  
"Oh my god! That feels fucking wonderful." He hissed, sinking back.  
"Sam this is amazing....you're amazing......oh holy fuck!"

He watched her, thinking she might sit beside him and talk, but to his surprise she stripped her own clothes off and swung her leg into the water.  
"Shift yourself forwards, skinny!" She said softly.  
He did so, still not entirely sure what she was about to do. She sat herself behind him, her legs on either side of his body.

"Lean back Malcolm."

Cradled between her thighs, his spine against her breast, she cupped her hands and let the water trail over his shoulders and chest.  
Each time she repeated the motion he sighed deeply with the sheer unadulterated bliss of it. Relaxed to the point of bonelessness.  
"Sam......fuck......"  
She tilted his head to guide it back gently until it rested under her chin and clasped her arms across his collarbones, he closed his eyes and let himself drift.

"What did you say to Nicholson?" She asked quietly.

"I told him to keep the fuck out of my business." He replied sleepily.

"You know he fancies you, right?"

"Yeah. I know. We've had that conversation. He knows it's never gonna happen. I thought he had a partner....turns out he doesn't."

"Fuck him Sam! I don't wanna talk about him. Kiss me....yeah?"

He craned his head round and she obliged him, which turned into fondling, which turned into a potential flooded floor.

"Not in here Malcolm.....we need to get out!"

 

He cradled her still damp body as he laid her back onto the bed gently, his eyes drinking in the sight of her slim frame, shiny and wet from the bath, smelling like heaven.

"Fuck Sam, but you are the most gorgeous thing.....just so beautiful......I fucking adore you.....I feel like I want to go down on my knees and worship you........I'm so fucking lost.....you know that right? If this goes tits up I'm done for.........I'm never coming back from this......."

He pressed himself close to her, kissing ardently, running his hand across her stomach and hip, as she gasped beneath him.

"Can I worship you......can I? Let me Sam.....please."

"I'm yours Malcolm......completely.......I'll accept it willingly, as long as I can give it back....."

"Fuck......but this is me, wanting to love you in the way you should be loved, how you deserve to be loved......for always......"

He kissed a trail down her body, the insides of her thighs, his hands holding her hips, as she felt his tongue against her so intimately. He worked her up until she was writhing beneath him, arching to meet his hungry mouth, then coming strongly with his name on her lips.

"So wonderful!" He whispered. "I love to feel you tremble like that and know that it's because of me."

He made love to her then, but only after asking if she was ready for him, if she wanted him, if she would accept him. As if he needed the reassurance that his attentions were welcomed.

"Yes! Malcolm yes! I want you, I need you like I need air to breathe."

When he reached his peak, his voice was gone, muted by desire.  
He clung to her like a dying man, as she soothed him, easing him down, unable to vocalise for several minutes. Before finally rolling away onto his back, with a moan of grateful fulfilment.

That night Malcolm Tucker slept like a baby. Never stirring. His cares far away. His mind and body at rest.

 

_THURSDAY._

At first light Sam woke, she turned to see her lover's face on the pillow next to her. Still in peaceful slumber. Wrapped close and warm, breathing deeply.  
"Malcolm, Malcolm, sweetie! It's time to get up."  
His eyes opened and focused.  
"Time is it?" He yawned and rubbed his eyes.  
"Half five."  
"Oh fuck it all! I just wanna stay here."

Once they reached Number Ten Malcolm rather wished he had.

It appeared that overnight there had been a leak from an unknown but reliable source citing Tom's unfitness for leadership. Rumours of a history depression and use of prescribed antidepressant medication had surfaced, and gossip was rife that there may be a leadership challenge.  
For Tom to be ousted as PM or forced to resign would be a complete disaster for the party, and Malcolm was flung straight into a maelstrom of frantic damage limitation, and scotching of the insinuations.

"Sam! Cancel all my scheduled meetings and get me as many of the press people together as you can. I'll be ready by noon."

There had been many times when Malcolm Tucker had his back against the wall, but Sam had seldom seen such panic in his eyes.  
His phone was jammed permanently to the side of his head, and it soon became clear that the likely source of the leak was Jamie. A betrayal which Malcolm could neither comprehend nor find a reason for, beyond political mischief and a possible self serving boost for his own future.  
The party faithful rallied to Tom's defence. A statement was hurriedly prepared for the top of the hour BBC news bulletin.  
As his PA Sam walked alongside her lover as he headed towards the press meeting.

"I'll hang that fucking little Judas out to dry after this!" He seethed.

"No one will dare come out of the woodwork to challenge, Malcolm, it would be suicidal. Tom has support across the cabinet and the back benches. Only Ballantine would be potential rival and she's got that online gambling fiasco hanging over her head."

"Well if it goes tits up I'm out of a job.....so I'd better make sure the nasty man goes away."

Outside the press room he took a few deep breaths, then plunged inside.

Sam watched him on the monitor, his command of himself, of the room. By the end they were eating out of his hand.  
From there it was a quick change of shirt and tie and over to the BBC for a live interview.  
Sam trotted along at his side, his walk more brisk and businesslike than usual.

Back at Number Ten, Malcolm had to brief Tom and prepare him for an interview with Evan Davies on Newsnight, later that same evening.

He'd eaten virtually nothing all day, and Sam ordered pizza, joining him in his office to watch the programme, which was broadcast after the late evening News.  
They sat side by side on his chaise......well, at least they were together, she reasoned.  
This time they shared a cab home, and it was Sam who didn't want to return to an empty flat at midnight.

Malcolm didn't think that anyone could possibly look more attractive wearing one of his T shirts and nothing else.

His house was transformed, just by her mere presence.

A waft of the perfume she wore. Her clothes in the washing machine, so they'd be clean and dry to wear again the following day.

In the days to come Malcolm would wander those rooms and feel her there. The cup she'd used on the draining board, and the fact there were two cups out instead of one. Her scent on his sheets, her towel, the T shirt she'd worn, which he refused to put in the laundry, but kept under his pillow, because it smelled of her. A stray long brunette hair. All signs that she'd stayed, she'd stay again, and that it was real.

_FRIDAY._

There was still some fall out from the previous day. Odd bits and pieces to catch up on, but by and large, the crisis receded as rapidly as it had reared its ugly head. Malcolm had dealt with it and put it to bed. Although his relationship with Jamie would never be the same again.  
He felt betrayed, and Malcolm was not a person on whom betrayal sat well.

Due to events of the day before, spiralling out of control, Sam had not had the opportunity to do something she'd made up her mind to do.  
She was grateful, therefore, for a window of opportunity whilst Malcolm was catching up on some of the meetings he'd scrubbed the previous day.

It was with some trepidation that she enquired of his secretary if Lord Nicholson was free.  
He was.  
She knocked and entered quietly.

"Good of you to see me." She began.

"Do sit down. Can I get you coffee?"

"I'm good thank you. I came to see you about Wednesday. I wanted to talk to you privately, without Malcolm being there. He doesn't know I've asked for this meeting. I know the gist of what he said to you. But I wanted to talk to you myself."

"Do go on. I'm all ears......"

"Malcolm's position is not unassailable, I realise that, he constantly strives to stay on a greasy perch. I also realise there may well come a time when it's untenable, he'll either be pushed out or he'll go of his own accord, when that happens is largely out of his hands, but in the meantime I don't want anything about us or our relationship to interfere with his work or compromise him in any way. Hence the need for discretion."

"I'm hearing you......"

"As we learned yesterday, rumours and gossip can lead to challenges and falls, people talk. Now, I can't stop that, but I can do my best to limit the damage. Malcolm says he doesn't care who knows about our affair, but any holder of such information has the potential to use it against him, in whatever way, and I would seek to avoid that."

Julius frowned, and his eyes watched her carefully. Steepling his fingers in front of his face in concentration. 'My, but Malcolm Tucker had found himself a formidable ally.' He mused.

"He will undoubtedly tell you that any withholding of the juicy details is to protect my reputation, or to save me from any nastiness, but I want you to know Lord Nicholson, I don't care two hoots for my reputation. I really couldn't care less what people think. I love Malcolm, and I'll do anything I can to keep him safe, whether it be here, or in the future when he's no longer the big chief. I'm laying my cards on the table here, asking you to help me in that."

"And what can I do? Malcolm is in command of his own destiny. He stands or falls as a result of his ability to deliver. It is out of my power to engineer that. I cannot contrive to keep him safe. As you put it."

"You have an affection for him. I see it. He means something to you....."

Nicholson made to protest.

".....I don't care what the reasons are, it's not important to me. What is important is that nasty little insinuations don't go round this building, or DoSAC. You more than anyone should know how much damage they do."

"Malcolm is a big boy, Miss Cassidy, he can take care of himself. He has nothing to fear on my part, let me assure you. No one will hear of your liaison from me. And I've already taken steps to ensure that Tom knows I was mistaken in my observations."

"Then I've nothing more to say. Thank you for your time. You are right, he can take care of himself, but he's not completely immune to barbs. The slings and arrows pierce us all, Lord Nicholson, some a lot more than others. I'll bid you good day."

She rose, and they shook hands, and Sam retreated downstairs to her groaning desk.

It was later in the afternoon, that Malcolm passed Julius in the corridor, on his way to the gents.  
"Malcolm! Glad I've caught you. I forgot to say, in the heat of the moment, on Wednesday after our little chat......"

"What is it, you old cunt.....I'm busy......"

"I was just going to say, you should hang on to that young lady of yours. With everything you have......she's a keeper."

He hurried away leaving Malcolm staring dumbfounded in his wake.

The working week was finally over.  
Fairly typical as working weeks went, for Malcolm anyway.  
All he was looking forward to was spending some time with the woman who in a single span of seven days had completely turned his life upside down.

He knew he would never be the same again, and that this particular seven days had been monumental.  
He was loved. He loved in return.

 

Fin.


	5. Lockdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This piece now forms chapter five of the new story I am currently working on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you @petersgal for this original prompt. 
> 
> This story will now continue and have more chapters as I have another prompt fill in progress and will expand this au.
> 
> For the original notes and prompt please see the originally posted minific .

LOCKDOWN.

 

Malcolm stared out of the window of the taxi as it ground to a halt in a traffic jam in Cheapside.  
"Fucks sake!" He hissed under his breath.  
"It's okay Malc, we have plenty of time." A soothing voice beside him, calmed his rising anger.

It had been several months now.  
Each morning that Malcolm woke up beside her, his first thought was that she hadn't tired of him yet. She was still here.

Fuck!

Mornings when he stayed at her place or she at his, they took a black cab in, instead of the pool car which Malcolm was entitled to use.  
The fewer people who knew about them, the better really. The fact that most people did know, was by the bye.  
It was old news now, and ceased to be the main topic of conversation in the back office at Number Ten. Most of them thought Sam was completely off her rocker......but she didn't care.

As for Malcolm.....had he changed?

At work, no. He was still as fired up, still as driven and still regularly gave rollockings. With Sam however, when they were alone, he was as different as he could possibly be.  
Softer, more rounded at the edges, content, more often ready with a smile.

The nights they spent together were Malcolm's raison d'être.

He could never get enough of them. Lying beside her was his greatest joy. Making love to her, his life.  
Nothing else came close.

Quiet domesticity.  
He always slept well when she was there, hardly at all when she wasn't. It was a constant surprise to him that her devotion didn't seem to waver, or diminish.  
She loved him.  
It was all he ever wanted.

Her hand closed over his now, and gave a little squeeze. Their shoulders touching as they sat side by side, passing down Ludgate Hill and into Fleet Street, heading towards Whitehall.  
The City bustling in its usual hectic surge. The hub of the financial world.

He checked his watch. If The Strand wasn't too snarled up he'd have time for a coffee and pick up his files before leaving for DoSAC. Today Sam was coming with him, in fact they'd be working together all day, which pleased him greatly. If she was at his side, no amount of incompetence could phase him.  
All would be right with the world.

Oh, how wrong he was!

oOo

The new DoSAC building was one of those open planned modern affairs. A central staircase, the floors separated by transparent partitions. Like being in a fucking goldfish bowl.

His own first instinct would be to sellotape newspaper to the walls, for privacy, if he worked there permanently....thank god he didn't!  
Nicola and all the usual suspects were milling about, the meeting room laid ready, with a fruit bowl......for some inexplicable reason.......and coffee, tea and water.

The new 'Citizens Initiative'. Nicola's latest baby. Malcolm thought the whole thing a monumental waste of time. But Tom was keen, thought it might be a vote winner.

Whatever!

"We've got a few minutes Malcolm, I'm just going to powder my nose." Sam trailed her hand across his gently. He snapped from his reverie and glanced up at her.

So fucking beautiful.

Every time he looked at her he thought it.

That quiet reserve she had, that grace, her singular unflappability. She was smiling at him.  
"Wake up Malcolm! You're miles away!"

He grinned back.  
"Yeah.....sorry......your fault......can't stop thinking about you......what a fucking sap!"

There was no one around to see her, so she leaned in and kissed him.  
"Don't say that! I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about you too.....it's called being in love! We're both completely crazy.....that's why it works! Dearest idiot!"

Terri entered at that moment, checking her phone as she did so, Sam backed away before she looked up, and made for the door.  
"Back in a few minutes." She said as she left.

Malcolm moved to the glass wall and peered down absentmindedly. Opening a bottle of water and taking a glug as he did so. His thoughts more focused on Sam and what he felt for her than the stultifying boredom of the impending meeting.  
Below him he could see the foyer, the stairs and the various floor levels.

Something appeared to be happening.

People were running........

Then a fire alarm began to ring, loud and insistent.

"Oh for fucks sake! Perfect fucking timing!" Malcolm groaned aloud.

As far as he knew there was no fire drill that day, so he guessed someone had probably inadvertently overcooked their microwaveable porridge or was puffing one of those fucking pathetic electric cigarettes people seemed to think were so cool, too close to the smoke sensor.

Without gathering up his notes, he made for the door, to find out what the fuck was going on, he opened it to be confronted by a hooded man, and found himself staring straight down the barrel of an AK-47 Assault Rifle.

oOo

Before he could really register what was happening, or his own profound shock and surprise, the gun was waved in his face,  
"You.......and you.....!" the gunman gestured towards Terri......."Out! Do as you're told and no one will be hurt!"

This particular floor had various enclosed board rooms, the only floor that did so. It was into one of these Malcolm was pushed at the point of the barrel.

The others were already there.  
Terror in their eyes, herded unceremoniously together, their hands raised in a gesture of surrender.  
Swallowing down his own sense of panic, Malcolm's eyes scanned the assembly.  
Where was Sam?

Shit. She wasn't there.  
A lurch of indescribable fear washed over him. At that point, he knew that there was absolutely nothing he wouldn't do to make sure she was safe.

"What the fuck's going on?" He asked, fronting the masked man.

"This is a hostage situation. You are being held here until our demands are met."

Malcolm took in the scene rapidly. There were half a dozen of them, that he could see. All armed, all masked. But why them? Why here?

He voiced these questions, still holding the eyes of the would be leader steadily.

"Because here we have a cabinet minister." His eyes flicked towards Nicola Murray. "She is important enough to make big news. Your government is holding one of our leaders. We want his release. And we want safe passage out of the country."

Malcolm frowned.

"Ain't never gonna happen sunshine! This place will be cordoned off in minutes. Polis crawling everywhere, Special Branch, the Army.....you name it.......the British Government doesn't negotiate with terrorists. Unless you give yourselves up you won't leave this building alive."

"Then nor will you! We will have to start shooting people.......one at a time......until they listen. We could start with you......you have the biggest mouth!"

There were audible gasps from the others, Malcolm flashed a warning glance towards Nicola, who kept resolutely silent.

"Shoot me by all means. My life is worth fuck all. But if you want someone who can negotiate, who can get you out of here, get you what you want, then you need to keep me alive. Because I'm the best hope you've got. So.........what's it to be?"

His glare didn't waver, nor did he back up as the gunman drew closer to him.

"Brave words! But you'll change your tune when people start dying. What's your name anyway?"

"Tucker. And I probably have more of the ear of Government than any cabinet minister.....and the press too.....it's my fucking job.......I've got a lot of friends.......you want to be in the papers? I can get you in every paper from the highbrow to the rags, I know a lot of people, heck....I know the fucking Prime Minister. Hold his dick for him when he goes for a piss."

The man didn't answer, but turned to his cohort.

"Search them all. Take away their mobiles, pagers, Blackberries, any communication device. YOU!" He turned back to Malcolm....."seems like you are our negotiator......any funny business and I shoot one of your friends, so make sure you're careful."

oOo

Inside the ladies toilet, Sam heard the fire alarm, she was about to hurry out when she saw the back view of a man with a gun, walking along the corridor, turning this way and that, kicking open doors.  
Closing the door quietly she hid herself in a cubicle and fumbled for her phone. She was about to dial out when it rang. Before it could ring a second time she answered it, in a hoarse whisper.

It was Jamie McDonald.

"Jamie.....don't talk, just listen. I'm at DoSAC. The place is under some kind of siege. There's a gunman in the corridor outside. Malcolm's here.....they're all here.....I don't know what the fuck is happening and I'm shitting myself. The fire alarm is going off, and I think I heard shots. What shall I do?"

"Where are you?"

"In the toilet. Fucking hell Jamie......someone's coming......I can hear them." Her voice dropped to a hiss.

"Stay where you are and stay quiet. I'm on it.....okay. If you get to Malcolm, tell him I'm the one who's on it.....tell him to ask for me.....he'll be the one talking......mark my words......he knows what to do......and Sam? Tell him..........Motherwell Rules......he'll know........Sam?.......Sam are you there?"

The line clicked off.

The stall door was kicked in as Sam hung up and tried to hide the phone, but too late.  
She was manhandled up and out into the corridor, held firmly by the arm.  
"You're in big trouble!" The muffled voice told her, menacingly.

oOo

Malcolm's face was one of anguish when the door was flung open, and Sam pushed roughly inside.  
He made to dart forwards as she fell to her knees, but the glance she shot at him, warned him off.

"Found this one in the lav......talking on her phone!" Barked the man angrily.

The leader turned and crossed to where Sam was just struggling to her feet. He backed her against the wall and placed the gun barrel under her chin.

"Well, what have we here? Pretty one! That was very naughty.....using your phone......"  
Taking the device from his colleague, he placed it onto the floor, and proceeded to shoot a bullet right through it.

Everyone in the room cried out at the sickening sound, Robyn clutching her hands over her ears, Terri starting to weep quietly.

"Next time it will be you!" He spat.

Malcolm, stepped forward.

"For fucks sake! These people are just civil servants.....not SAS......you scare the fucking shit out of them and something bad is gonna happen. Just calm the fuck down."

"You don't tell me......I tell you." The leader replied, with venom, but Malcolm held his ground.

"Listen pal.....you want your mate freed, you wanna live to fight another day.....you gotta give something.....you gotta show them out there that you're human......otherwise they'll just come barging straight in here, guns blazing.......the place'll be surrounded by now.....they'll wanna hear your demands......lets cool it down and get to talking......sooner we do, sooner we can all go home, yeah?"

The leader turned back to his associate.

"Keep her in a separate room from the others.......I'll deal with her later, I'll devise appropriate little punishments for her......" He leered at Sam.

"No fucking way!" Malcolm raised his voice. "We all stay together.....otherwise, there'll be no deal.....you start hurting people, then it'll all go tits up."

The rifle butt hit Malcolm a glancing blow, he went down, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Sam gave a yelp of horror, but he held a hand up, warning her to stay back.

Regaining his feet, he wiped his face with the back of his hand, the steel grey of his eyes as hard as flint.

"We stay together." He said again, defiantly. "Now give me a fucking phone, and let's get this deal underway."

From behind him Sam spoke.

"God!" She groaned. "Reminds me of Motherwell! You, me and Jamie.......hey Malcolm?"

Malcolm looked closely at her, her face impassive, stern, unreadable.

He clicked.

"Fuck yeah!" He replied with a slight smile, a fresh trickle of blood appearing, "that was some brawl, Jamie lost a tooth!"

"What are you two talking about?" The leader pushed Sam onto a plastic chair.

"Just reminiscing! Motherwell Rules......nothing for you to worry about." He responded. "Now where's that phone?" He dialled rapidly, listening for the ring.

oOo

_"McDonald."_

"Hello, you fucking prick. It's me. You're on speaker phone."

"Fucking hell Malc. What the fuck's going on?"

"Where are you?"

"Outside. The place is surrounded. It's a fucking lock down. No one in, no one out. What the fuck's happening? We heard a shot."

"Got ourselves a little hostage situation going on here mate. The whole DoSAC crew are here. Apparently we're holding one of their guys, they want him out.....and they want safe passage. I'll give you the details. You need to organise me some transport, contact the powers that be. Talk to the Foreign Sec. and Tom. Tell them to get their fucking fingers out bro! Get the press pack down here, they want publicity...and lots of it. They wanna turn on the news and see this as top headline.....they want Fiona Bruce giving it large.......can you do that brither?"

"Sure thing Malcolm. I'll get on to it. You need anything up there........you got any casualties?"

"No casualties, but a couple who might be a problem, itchy fingers......but I'm working on that. Don't need anything......unless you can send up a six pack?"

There was a slight pause.

"Guessing you'll want Tennant's Extra?"

"Not suitable for the board room. Too loaded. Needs to be something gentler on the stomach!"

"Okay Malc. I hear you. I'll ring you on this number?"

"No, I'll ring you. No faffing about Jamie......okay?"

"I'm on it."

oOo

The line went dead. Jamie McDonald turned to the Chief of Police, who was standing beside him, in the main car park.

"There's six of them." He said confidently. "All armed. They're being held in the Boardroom. That's in the middle of the building, close to the lifts. One door in only. No windows. And all the DoSAC employees from the main office are being held there.......so that's twenty people at least. You can't go charging in like the fucking cavalry.......too risky, they'll fucking shoot them all."

"How do you know that?"

"Malc just told me. Motherwell Rules.......way back when we were nippers.....a gang would be a pack.....he said a six pack.....he wasn't talking about fucking beers. Tennant's extra is a strong beer.....knocks your socks off....I asked him if he wanted it......he said no.......too strong for the boardroom.....something gentler. So no strong arm tactics......handle with care. They're volatile and they're nervous.....he said itchy fingers.......that means they're twitchy, liable to lose it.  
Fucking hell......what a bloody mess!"

oOo

Malcolm dabbed at his face, which was still oozing slightly. He turned to the leader of the group.

"It's in hand. My mate is on to it. But they're gonna ask for guarantees. And they're gonna want concessions......a show of faith......maybe you releasing the ones who are weak, or sick, or on medication.......trust me, you don't want any deaths on your hands Charlie......because as soon as that happens, you're all dead men walking......they'll never let you leave alive, or release your pal."

"We make no deals with anyone. You tell your friend, that unless we hear from him in one hour we start shooting people.....we start with the least important.....and work our way up."

"No one is more important here than anyone else. A life is a life. These people have families, husbands, wives.....you need to be seen as humane......otherwise they'll never give you what you want."

Malcolm moved along the line of office staff as he spoke, looking at them kindly as they cowered against the wall.  
Surrinder, the receptionist was expecting a baby, Terri, he knew to be diabetic, there were a couple of other back room staff he was aware of, with health issues.  
Malcolm knew them all, he knew their histories and their weaknesses.  
It was is job to know these things.

He took Surrinder's hand in his own.

"It's okay love, you'll be fine. We'll get you out of here, and you'll be safe."

He turned to the leader, who kept the gun barrel permanently pointed at Malcolm's chest.

"Do you have to keep pointing that fucking thing at me? You're making me nervous!.......Listen, she should be freed......and a couple of others who have potential health issues. The last thing you want in your cosy hostage situation is a wailing woman going into labour.....it's loud and it's messy....what do you say?"

"Get your friend on the phone. Tell him what I told you." Was the gunman's only reply.

Malcolm dialled Jamie again, doing his best to keep the tremble from his fingers.

'Strength Malcolm! Don't show them you're afraid!' He thought.

"Jamie! How are we doing down there mate? Give me good news!"

"Transport is on its way. There'll be a plane at Brize Norton waiting. Your guy will be there. We are sorting out his release from Prison now, but they need to give us time to get him there. It'll take a little while. We're moving as fast as we can."

"You've got one hour. You got press down there?"

"Every fucking bastard hack and TV channel you care to name, from Sky to Al Jazeera, from CBeebies to QVC........"

"Okay......our glorious leader has a statement to read out.......and we have some hostages to be freed.......I'll pass you over......don't you fucking let me down you cunt, or I'll come back from the dead and haunt your arse!"

oOo

Having secured the release of five of the hostages, Malcolm gave himself a moment to breathe.  
The leader and spokesperson being occupied, he chanced a shifty glance at Sam.  
Moving across the room, passing encouraging pleasantries to the remaining workers, he contrived to end up by her side.  
"You okay?" He murmured, and touched the tips of his fingers momentarily to hers.  
"I'm fine." She whispered under her breath, and he moved away.

"Hey! Charlie! There's a load of bottled water and tea and coffee in the meeting room.......down the corridor on the right.......how about we get it in here.......give everyone a bit of elevenses? What do you say? Might make everyone feel a little less fucking manic?"

Without comment, he waved the gun at Robyn.......whose face resembled a startled rabbit......

"You! Go!" He barked.

She hesitated, torn between the prospect of leaving the others, and the possibility of maybe making a run for it.  
Malcolm crossed the room towards her, taking her arms gently.  
"Robyn.......love.......don't do anything stupid......go to the meeting room......take Joan with you.......put everything on a tray.....bring it back here.......okay? Can you do that for me?"

She nodded, biting her lip nervously.

The two women left, accompanied by one of their armed assailants, and were soon back.

The beverages being passed around and shared, went a long way to easing the brooding tension in the room.

oOo

The hour was almost up.

The leader addressed Malcolm once more.

"Oi! Tucker.....time to phone a friend!"

Malcolm had been leaning against the wall, he guessed that by now the authorities would not have wasted the allotted time. Snipers were probably positioned strategically on surrounding rooftops, he knew some kind of plan would be in place. He also knew there was no way these people would get what they wanted, it was a matter of time before something gave.  
His mind, as he was handed the phone, was a whirl of thoughts.

"Jamie! Talk to me mate. What's occurring out there? The hour is up.....bullets are gonna start flying if you've no good news for me."

"Do you have access to a TV screen.......I believe there's one in the interview room.....can they hear me? Send someone to fetch it."

Malcolm turned to the head honcho and raised a questioning eyebrow......

"Take Reeder......he'll show you where it is......" He pointed to the gunman then signalled to Ollie.

Once the two were dispatched, Malcolm turned his conversation back to his friend.

"You're working for me out there brither......yeah? Press arrived yet?"

"Yeah......Malcolm, you'll see when you switch the telly on.......news bulletin due in a couple of minutes......when this is over mate.....we'll share a cigar yeah.......like that time before......made you choke on the smoke remember? You coughed and retched something terrible! You fucking pansy!"

There was a pregnant pause, as Malcolm digested his friend's words.  
The TV was plugged in as both hostages and gunmen gathered round to watch.

The headline news was a man being lead handcuffed from a high security prison, into a waiting van, which drove away under a hail of flashing cameras and shouted questions. The scene then shifted to the outside of the building they were in. A police cordon, marksmen, the pulse of blue lights, people in uniform milling about.  
Malcolm's eyes scanned the screen with a sharp intelligence.

He turned back to the phone and Jamie.

"Good work, pal. And I'll look forward to that smoke......any idea when?"

"Soon Malc, now their boy is on his way to Brize. You need that six pack yet?"

"Nah.....five will do, you can leave one outside the door! Can't manage six beers.....I'll get pished."

"Fair enough! I'll call you back when we hear news that he's reached the airfield, then we'll talk about what's gonna happen next okay?"

"Yep. Gotcha."

Malcolm rang off and the phone was snatched from him.

oOo

"Well? What did you glean this time?" The uniformed brigadier stood at Jamie's side.

"One is outside in the corridor, keeping watch, the others are in the room with the hostages. Malcolm knows what's coming. Smoke bomb. Somehow he'll have to convey it to the others. But he'll work it out.  
He knows it'll be in the next hour. That's about all I could say without giving it away. Fuck, I hope your guys know what they're doing. This could be a fucking bloodbath."

oOo

A muted impasse had somehow been unconsciously reached in that boardroom. Some of the office workers were beginning to flag. Malcolm could see it in their faces. To spend so long with this height of tension frayed the nerves, it made people jumpy and volatile.  
He could see the same look in the eyes of the attackers.

"Sam, pass us some of that tea love."

Sam glanced at the leader for approval, before stepping forwards, the gunman watched her closely, trailing the barrel of his weapon down the length of her arm, as he followed her to the table.  
Malcolm gritted his teeth, his jaw working furiously.

Sam, however, ignored her antagonist, poured tea and passed it to her lover.

"Thanks pet. Bet Julius is watching events closely! Reminds me of when we met him in the park!"

Sam looked at Malcolm curiously. Why was he referring to that incident? Why now? It must mean something or else why refer to it?

Her mind worked furiously, back to the day they met Lord Nicholson, the very first weekend they spent together, a weekend in which every little nuance was etched permanently on her brain, tattooed on her cerebral cortex for time immemorial.  
How they'd joked with him, how she'd guessed the way Malcolm's mind worked and followed his lead.

That was it!

"Yes....I expect he's worried about you! He wouldn't want a hair of your head to be harmed!"  
She smiled.

Malcolm's eyes flashed, she'd hit the nail, she was with him. Fuck but she was a clever girl!  
Sharp as a tack.

"So Jamie's promised you a smoke?"

"Yeah....stupid cunt!"

"When?"

"Soon I guess."

"You'll need everyone well out of the way then......those Cuban ones stink to high heaven."

Malcolm laughed slightly.

"Yeah they do. Fucking perilous to your health too! They can kill you if you're not careful.....still there's usually a health warning."

"Well, yeah......to let everyone know!"

Malcolm looked intently at Sam, his eyes were almost pleading, he was frightened, she could tell. A slight tremor in his voice told her just how scared he was.

"It'll be alright Malcolm. One Cuban cigar won't kill you, or anyone else. Just warn me before you light it.....I'll get out of the way! You finished with that cup and saucer?"

She reached out to take it from him, and their fingers touched momentarily.

Moving away to where the others were corralled she joined them, staring down the lead gunman defiantly, as he'd kept her separate from everyone else up until then.

"Can we all sit?" She asked him, pointedly....."Please!.......we're tired, and overwrought.....we need to sit!"

"They can sit. You can go back over there. And YOU....." His voice raised slightly, he pointed the gun towards Nicola.

The two women obediently moved to one side.  
Malcolm didn't move, but his expression changed to one of alarm.

Shit.

They were directly in the firing line.

As the minutes ticked by inexorably, sweat began to bead his forehead. Adrenaline to pump.  
He was readying himself mentally and physically for what he knew was coming.

Listening intently, to any movement outside, although the insulation in the walls gave away very little sound.

Fuck!

His palms were clammy. His heart thumping in his chest.

oOo

Several things happened at once.

The door flew open with great force.

The room was suddenly filled with thick smoke.

Pandemonium broke out inside.

Screaming. Crying. Gun fire.

"EVERYONE! DOWN!" A voice cried.

Malcolm threw himself with all his strength over Sam. She went down under his weight like a felled tree. He lay atop her. His body shielding hers.

Bullets whizzed and whined.

It was all over in a matter of seconds although it felt like an eternity.

In the confusion and the smoke, the gunmen hit nothing but the walls. The staff were lying prostrate on the floor, their hands over their heads.

The smoke billowed and obliterated everything. As uniformed men wearing breathing apparatus surged in, disarming and disabling the five assailants....the one outside having been taken out without a single sound.

Two were wounded including the leader.  
As the smoke cleared there were a couple of hostages blooded, but only superficially injured.  
A miracle considering the indiscriminate firing.

Malcolm remained over Sam's body until he was completely sure that it was all over bar the shouting.

Gradually the smoke cleared.  
People were being led away, weeping, coughing and retching, clutching each other in relief.  
Sirens wailed outside as ambulances swept in.

Still Malcolm didn't move.

Oblivious to all the mayhem around him, he finally raised his head slowly, looking into her tear streaked face. Paroxysms of hacking coughing overtook him.

"You alright?" He whispered hoarsely. Spluttering and trying to breathe normally.

"Yeah. You?"

Her fingers touched his face, and she stretched up towards him, letting their lips touch.

"Fuck! Sam! Fucking fuck!" He choked out. Crashing his mouth against hers in a hungry assault.

They were lying thus, still entwined, when a voice sounded above them.

"Want that cigar now, you old bastard? Fuck me but you're a clever cunt! Though I say so myself! You're a fucking hero! You're fucking batman......fuck me....Malc!"

Releasing himself from Sam's clutches, Malcolm stood up, helped her to his side, his arm around her protectively, and turned to face his friend.

"Thanks pal....I owe you one!" He said roughly, and enveloped Jamie in a tight bear hug.

"Come on Sam." He moved away then, his hand holding Sam's tightly. "The police can come to the house and interview me. I'm fucking off home......with this beautiful woman, and I'm going to screw her into the middle of next week!"

Sam flushed crimson, but threaded her arms around him, looking up at him adoringly.

"The fucking will have to wait, mate. You're wanted out there, there's a whole bank of press, and the Commissioner of Police, and god knows who else......duty calls!"

"Fuck duty!" Malcolm scowled, but he followed his friend out of the building to face the barrage.

It was several hours before the two returned to Malcolm's place.

Letting himself in, he flopped down on the sofa.

"Well, that wasn't quite the day I had planned." He puffed.

Sam crawled into his side and began to sniffle quietly, as the enormity of it all hit her.

In under half an hour they were showered, and in bed.

"I could have lost you today Malcolm!" She sobbed. "You were almost reckless!"

"Nah! They wouldn't waste a bullet on me!" He snuggled himself against her.

"I'm not fooled by that false bravado for one second." She whispered.

"I was scared shitless Sam. But more for you than for myself. Fuck.....but I realised something today.......I never want to be without you........I fucking love you more than my life......you're the most important thing to me. There's nothing else I want or need.......ever."

"And I love you Malcolm Tucker, you're my super hero. Now are you going to make love to me?  
Because I need you right now......so much.......I need to feel you.......I want you, more than anything I've ever wanted in my entire life."

"Fuck yeah! Come here, my beautiful!"

 

Fin.


	6. Rejection.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little time has passed since 'Lockdown' and neither Malcolm nor Sam are coping well with the fallout.  
> Although the incident has bought them closer together they are both dealing with the trauma in different ways. Malcolm is shutting it out and pretending it didn't happen, and Sam has become unwell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next few chapters are in response to a wonderful prompt from @flydye88 on tumblr. 
> 
> "I have a Malcolm/Sam prompt for you (if you would like to do it) Sam for whatever reason cannot have any penetration while being intimate with Malcolm for quite some time (3 weeks or more) How do Sam and Malcolm compensate for this temporary change in their intimate time?" 
> 
> As soon as I read this prompt I knew there was an awful lot I could write to fill it. 
> 
> There is such a rich vein here. The chance to explore the relationship more fully and to learn more about Malcolm's thought processes and back story. 
> 
> So far there are four chapters to this continuation, and I will probably take the story on, beyond the prompt.
> 
>  
> 
> I was also very clear in my mind of how I wanted this exploration to be. I wanted to steer well away from a Dom/Sub situation and depict a relationship based much more on mutual sharing and tenderness in the conventional sense.  
> And that is mainly because the more I read stories of that ilk, the more I find they leave me empty. If that makes me staid and old fashioned, then so be it. I care not one jot.
> 
> This story is less about ownership and more about belonging.  
> This is a more vanilla Malcolm, a working class Catholic boy with no particular sexual proclivities, who, more than anything else, just wants to be loved. For himself.

CHAPTER SIX.  
REJECTION. 

 

It was strange the way their lives had become so inextricably linked. 

All from that one weekend. When she'd persuaded him to come to her place. 

And fuck his miserable pathetic hide, he hadn't wanted to leave. 

His big confession. His angry and confused tears.....

Angry at his own weakness, confused by the plethora of powerful feelings that he didn't seem able to control anymore. 

He was fucking in love with her. 

Fuck, and he was so sure he'd finked it, that she didn't feel the same. Made a total twat of himself and ruined their friendship in the process. 

Shocked to find that wasn't the case. Stunned in fact. Almost daily expecting it to be over. 

The hostage siege made him look at himself, at her, and their relationship. He realised he was in so fucking deep.

The following week Malcolm seemed less and less inclined to want to return to his own house. Unless Sam was there with him, he felt himself rattling around inside it like a dried pea in a tin. Restless and unfocused.

He didn't let on to her that the t shirt she'd worn that first time she'd stayed over was still under his pillow. 

Months now. 

But it still had her scent. It became like a security blanket. He was comforted knowing it was there. 

Up until that fateful day at DoSAC, Malcolm Tucker had still not really allowed himself to truly believe.  
It was contrary to everything he fought so hard against. To not become involved, to not give of himself, to not let go. 

These months with Sam had been a revelation. When she was there beside him, he slept well, he felt complete. Such an alien sensation. Giving in. Surrendering.  
But he'd done it almost right from the start. Somehow he just had no choice. As if it were decided for him. 

That first weekend was indelibly tattooed onto his cerebral cortex. A Friday to Monday he'd never forget for as long as he lived. 

How quickly he'd learned to crave her. 

Everything she was, her love so all encompassing.  
She surrounded him in an aura of such profound attachment that he couldn't get his head around it at all.  
Each day he kept expecting it to end. He'd wake up. All a dream. She'd tire of him......she was bound to, eventually.  
Every week that passed and that didn't happen, he dared to hope. 

It scared the shit out of him. 

Sam knew, she could gauge him so well. When he clung to her each night she did her best to give him reassurance. Tell him how much she loved him, wanted him.  
Inside, however, there was always one tiny part, one nagging doubt. 

It just wouldn't leave him be. 

He was desperate for her constantly. Only had to think about her hair, her scent, her body and his cock was twitching in his trousers. 

Of course it wasn't just the sexual attraction, but for him it was the affirmation, if she did indeed love him, she would welcome him, accept him, allow him to make love to her, and it helped him make sense of it all. 

Evenings and nights were what he looked forward to most, being alone with her, and following the attack on DoSAC, it seemed to grow and strengthen more and more.  
It was more intense than anything he'd ever experienced in his entire life.  
Being with her, lying beside her, feeling her need for him, hearing her gasp and moan his name. Entering her and being one with her. It frequently bought him almost to tears.  
Such a strong emotional response, such vulnerability, depths he didn't know he even possessed. 

So long had he kept that side of his life down, under wraps. Hidden from the world. 

Successfully closed himself off. 

Denial. 

Both of his feelings and of himself. 

Oftentimes he would make himself go without. No matter how much he wanted to just wank himself into oblivion.  
He would fight it.  
Defy his own body's natural urges, and for Malcolm, they were strong. They always had been. He was a demonstrative man.

In the political circles which Malcolm orbited, sex was so often a weapon. 

Sleeping around to get where you needed to go, that applied to both men and women.  
Little scandals as certain proclivities came to light, Ministers with mistresses, brothels and escorts, naughty nights, gay bars.  
Fucking their secretaries at Party Conference.  
Malcolm had seen it all.....indulged in some of it in the early days, when he was newly divorced and gagging for a quick fuck. But he very soon realised that if he couldn't have the real thing, he didn't want it at all. A lot of it repulsed him. He thought it all rather sordid. It wasn't the acts themselves that nauseated him, far from it, whatever turns you on.......it was the falsehood, the pretending, what was the point?  
It didn't get him off. 

Sex for him, was so much more than just the mere act, it was a complete experience. Both for himself and, he hoped, his partner. Sensual, gentle, a sharing, giving thing. The glorious feeling of desire, of touching, stroking, caressing and kissing. It was also all about proving himself. Showing himself to be vital, masculine, sexual, that he was good at it, and was therefore wanted, for himself and not for his wallet or his position. 

Hurt so many times. Let down. Cast aside. Because when he gave himself he did it so completely. Even with his wife he waited vainly for rewards that never came. 

So now he would religiously hold himself back.  
Go for weeks sometimes without touching himself, without making himself come.....which was the only way he ever did it these days. Self punishment exacted on his traitorous prick, as with many other aspects of his life. Not sleeping or eating much, working until he was so tired he could barely stand, because it took the edge off the hunger. A vicious cycle of need.

All to keep himself keen. On the boil. Constantly wired. 

If he succumbed, he felt weak. 

Not one single soul knew the reasons behind all this. His guilt, his shame. It was a badge he carried with him and never, ever spoke about.

That first weekend with Sam and the subsequent months, completely tore him to shreds.  
Bared him.  
Raw and open, ripped apart. 

Barriers suddenly smashed down. 

Made him feel so fucking strange. 

Adrift almost, although Sam did her best to anchor him.  
It was as if his feet were no longer on solid ground. 

Scared shitless. 

For days afterwards he was a mess, barely functioning. If he was honest with himself it was a car crash waiting to happen.  
Holding it together through the day only because of the promise of her warmth later. 

One look from her, a word, and he was like an eager puppy.  
Thought about her almost constantly, and was forever in fear that she'd drop him because he was weak and pathetic and needy and he knew that when that happened he'd be finished.  
Fucked.  
The mere idea of being rejected by her almost crushed the breath from him. 

Sam saw it all. Read his facial expressions and nuances like the page of a book. Although she couldn't see inside his head and what he carried there. 

She had also seen the look on his face when the masked man threatened her. Malcolm would have ripped his head off with his bare hands if he'd tried to hurt her, regardless of his own safety. 

For her part she willingly opened herself to him, drawing him in, because she recognised and accepted that here was a complicated soul, with more issues and hang ups from his past than anyone she'd ever met. 

Here was a man who, despite all outward appearances, needed to feel safe. 

To be certain he was loved. Desperately insecure. Vulnerable in the face of what he struggled to comprehend and deal with.......

The way he felt, and the way she might feel about him. 

It didn't matter how many times she told him she loved him, he needed it frequently reaffirmed.  
Always in doubt. It was what made him reach for her hand in the office, in a quiet moment, or touch her arm.  
It was what made him long for her at night, if he was in bed alone. 

oOo

So the first time it happened he was caught off guard. 

Lying spooned against her, a hand resting on her belly. His head pressed into her back. 

The hand wandering gradually south. A little kiss on her shoulder. 

She squirmed a little. 

"Malc! No! I'm tired. Please. Not tonight." 

She'd spurned his advances. 

It cut him to the quick. 

She'd never done that before. Not once. 

It was true that he contented himself perfectly happily with just snuggling against her when she was menstruating, although as soon as it was over it was _she_ who was desperate for _him_ , to the point of opening his trousers and taking him out in the car on their way home from an evening out once. He'd had to pull into a lay by, while she fondled him wantonly, and he'd come all over himself because of it. 

She'd never pushed him away. Until now. 

He'd let it go. Said okay. No worries. Fallen asleep against her eventually.  
But dark thoughts stirred within him, and he felt rising panic somewhere in his chest. 

The following morning still curled together, she was quiet, subdued, distant. 

Any normal person would have asked her if anything was wrong, tackled her gently, discussed it. 

Not Malcolm. 

He turned in on himself.  
It was because of him. He'd done something wrong. She was rejecting him. Wracking his thoughts for the reason for her displeasure and coming up with nothing, he resorted to the inevitable conclusion that the thing he'd most dreaded was actually happening. 

She no longer wanted him. It was soon to be over. 

Unable to quite take it in, he threaded his arms around her where she lay, kissed her with all the tenderness he could muster. 

Drawing her closer, testing the waters.  
She allowed him to continue, and in no time at all he was attempting to push inside her, keen to show her just how much she meant to him, the best way he knew how. 

Suddenly she was pulling away from him, scooting herself backwards, up the bed, with a gasp and a mewling cry. 

"No! Malcolm! You're hurting me! It hurts. Please stop. Please." 

He withdrew as if stung. 

Mortified.

Never assume Malcolm! Always ask for permission. Be a gentleman.....and he did, he was, but this time......

"Fuck! Sam! I......I'm so sorry......I.......please forgive me, you didn't say no, I thought........"

She was struggling to sit up, fending him off, tears beginning to come. 

Malcolm felt like utter shit. 

She dragged herself from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, crying. 

He tried to follow but she closed the door on him, he pressed an ear to it urgently.

Could hear her weeping. 

"Sam! Sam! I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Please, come out. Please talk to me. Fuck! I'm such a cunt! I need you. Sam! Please!" 

She emerged after some ten minutes. Her face red and puffy. She looked frightened. 

Malcolm tried to comfort her, but he was afraid to touch her. Petrified and ashamed of what he'd done. 

_"There's something wrong Malcolm. It's not you. It's me."_

Oh Christ! There it was! Where had he heard that before? Fucking fuck me! 

The classic rejection line. 

He went into brain freeze, let her go, sank down on the edge of the bed. Desolate. White as a sheet. 

She followed him down, her arms around him, head against his shoulder.

"Malcolm. Listen to me! I felt it last night, there's something wrong. I don't feel right. When you tried to penetrate me, it hurt. It shouldn't hurt. I'm going to have to make a Doctor's appointment. Seriously......Malcolm. I'm bloody crapping myself here, there was blood there......don't go all weird on me now.........I need you!" 

She began to sob in earnest. 

"It really isn't me?" He turned to face her and his look knocked her for six. 

Despair.

"God! Malcolm! No. Of course not! Why would you even think that? That I would just cut you off, cast you aside? Shut you out for no reason?"

He shrugged. 

"Dunno....."

"Malcolm!" She took his face in her hands. "I love you. It doesn't just die overnight. Please! Don't look so stricken."


	7. No Sex Please, We're British.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm accompanies Sam to the Surgery. She receives some less than good news. 
> 
> How will they both cope with it? Sam decides to take matters into her own hands.....literally.......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter for the wonderful prompt from @flydye88.
> 
> There is a great deal of backstory here with Malcolm that I am only just beginning to address. I have tackled the subject in previous fics but not to this extent. 
> 
> It will take a while for Sam to break down the walls, and for him to truly let her in.

CHAPTER SEVEN.  
NO SEX PLEASE, WE'RE BRITISH. 

The surgery was busy. He'd accompanied her, his Sam needed him, she was scared. Was she his Sam? He fervently hoped so.

Wasn't sure what was wrong but he could sense her fragility.  
Be a man Malcolm, for fucks sake!  
This is what being in a REAL relationship meant.  
All new to him. Never been in this position before.

He waited.

Leg bouncing, a bundle of nerves. 

A thousand thoughts going through his head. Briefly, he'd considered the possibility of a pregnancy, but he'd dismissed it from his mind just as quickly. 

She surely wouldn't lie to him, he was certain. It was okay, she'd said so. 

Unusually, he'd trusted her that she took her own precautions, gone into her bare, right from the start. Something he wouldn't have done in normal circumstances. He didn't take chances.  
He'd never even done that with his ex wife, although she'd tried to trap him, no way he was bringing a kid into the world with her, not until he was sure of her. In the end it was a fucking relief it hadn't happened. 

Would never have been so reckless and stupid. 

Christ! He was an idiot! But he was so fucking lost! 

No!  
It wasn't that. Couldn't be. 

Sam was scared, he could see that much, she thought there was something really wrong.  
Frightened him too.....that anything might happen to her. 

He hated doctors. And hospitals. The smell. The clinical sterility. 

Fuck! Here she was. 

Coming towards him. 

She'd emerged after more than twenty minutes.

He went forward to meet her, scanning her face for any crumb of hope or reassurance.

Biting her lip, dewy eyed, but she looked relieved from what he could see.  
So difficult to tell. He wasn't good at reading the signs, knew diddly squat about women's stuff. Fuck! But this was torture, and Malcolm didn't know what he should say or do.  
Just knew that he should be supportive. Isn't that what they say? Be supportive, encouraging.

Fuck him.......but he was so out of his depth. 

Together they went to the pharmacy. 

He held her hand, trying to be sympathetic. She said very little. Driving in silence. Until they were back home. 

"Well?" He asked. "For gods sake Sam, tell me......what did he say?"

Taking her hand in his he raised it to his lips and kissed it tenderly, holding it against his cheek. 

She sniffled slightly and his arms came around her protectively. Holding her close. 

"Fuck! It's not something bad is it?" He whispered. 

"He examined me. It was horrible. I felt violated Malcolm. The nurse was there and told me to relax! Relax? Are they joking? When they're putting a cold metal speculum inside you, smeared with KY Jelly and cranking the bolt to open you up!" She shuddered involuntarily and Malcolm grimaced at the thought of her being subjected to such a thing. 

"Fuck it all! Sam!" His hand stroked her hair tenderly. 

"He said I have a yeast type infection, he thinks is been bought on by having a low immune system as a result of the trauma of the DoSAC thing. He told me that the events of that day have had more far reaching consequences on my body than I imagined.  
A subconscious reaction.  
Coupled with the fact that I've been having quite a lot of sex just lately, he says I'm a bit dry and very tensed up and overwrought. He's given me pessaries and capsules and told me to refrain from penetrative intercourse for at least two weeks until the symptoms subside." 

"Okay? Well, it could be worse. The important thing is that you're alright!" 

"He also said I should have counselling. I told him I keep having flashbacks......do you?"  
Malcolm nodded solemnly.  
"He thought that you would too.....he told me that these things tend to fester, and we think we're dealing with them, but we're not. Post traumatic stress, and this is how it's chosen to come out, my body is rebelling against it." 

She started to cry softly. 

"Sorry Malcolm."

"Sorry? What the hell for?" 

"That you've got to put up with all this......me.......not really part of the deal you signed up for......"

"Are you fucking joking? I love you." He pulled her head down onto his shoulder as he spoke, his hand holding it in place. 

"I don't want you to think it's you, okay? Or anything you've done......and I know that's what you were thinking. Because I know you! But I was scared when I saw the blood, I knew it wasn't right, and I panicked I guess.....and reacted badly. I'm sorry." 

"Fuck it all Sam. I'm pissing into the wind here! Haven't a fucking clue what I'm doing. Just know I want to be there for you.....like you've always been for me.....every fucking time......Christ!" 

He let go of her and held his head in his hands.

"I'm so fucking smitten Sam.....have you any idea? This is just crazy. I feel crazy. My nerves are so on edge it's like I'm going to explode! Something's gotta give, I'm gonna go under otherwise. It's just too much! Feel as though if I relax for one second it'll slip away.......then I'm fucked." 

She held him then, close. Her lips finding his, a sweet soft kiss. 

"I know Malcolm. I know. But it's all good. Look how far you've come already. Look how close we are in such a short time. It's working.....don't you think? Us? We're good together.....don't you feel that?" 

"Fuck! Yeah! And I want it Sam......so bad......to be with you....yeah? So fucking bad, it hurts."

oOo

No one commented on the pair's late arrival at the 'fuck office'.  
Malcolm's evil scowl was enough to warn off even the most curious of co workers. 

Mercifully it was Friday and nothing major happened to further mar the day. Within hours they were home again, at her place once more.  
Malcolm suggested going to his, but Sam said no, she wanted to be at home, and she wanted to do something for him, but she didn't specify what it was. 

Which made Malcolm more anxious than ever. 

After they'd eaten, she broached the subject again.

"Malcolm, come to the bedroom with me?" 

"We can't........you can't........" He began, confusion knitting his brows. 

"There's more things two people can do together in a bedroom than _that_!" She giggled reassuringly.  
"And I want to try something, I want to see if I can get you to wind down a little......properly relax. You've been completely manic since that bloody day at DoSAC. And I'm seriously worried about you. You really are NOT coping.....and since we can't fuck..........well, I'd like to do this instead. Are you up for it?" 

Malcolm face was a picture of scepticism. 

"I guess....." He said, doubtfully. 

She led him by the hand, and he followed meekly. Just as he had when she'd taken him into her care that very first night. 

Her bedroom always smelled so wonderful. He could never quite put a finger on the scent, he only knew that he loved it. Faint perfume, floral, clean and wholesome.  
Today there were lit candles on the bedside tables, on the dresser and along the shelves.  
Curtains closed, no other light. 

"Shit! It's like a fucking boudoir in here." He said nervously, glancing about him. 

"Malcolm, I want to do something. Will you allow me?"

"Depends what it is......fuck.....it's nothing kinky is it?" 

She chuckled slightly then, and stroked his face. 

"No! Nothing like that, but something nice.......I hope.....but I want you to just go with it. Do you trust me?" 

He hesitated a moment.

Then puffed out his cheeks. 

"Fuck! I suppose......."

Then.....

"What the fuck are you going to do to me?" His eyes were darting around the room, as if searching for something that might be potentially weird. It gave him the jitters. 

"Malcolm.....calm down, you make it sound like I'm going to perform surgery without anaesthesia, or poke your eyeballs out or something.......now do you trust me or not?" 

"Fuck! Yeah.....I guess." 

She fetched a large bath towel and spread it out on the bed, after removing the top covers. Placing a rolled towel at the pillow end. Malcolm observed nervously. 

"Okay, let's get your things off." She said gently, turning to him. 

"What all of them?" His eyes widened. "Seriously Sam.....you're not gonna do something weird are you? Only I'm not into that shite......I've tried it.....and it doesn't......."

"Malcolm! Hush! It's nothing like that.....honestly! I just want you to undress and lie down, you can leave your pants on if you feel uncomfortable. You're not usually so coy! Just do it......please?" 

Malcolm stood with his arms hanging loose at his sides, as if unsure what to do with them. Skinny chest exposed, knobbly knees. Socks still on. Sam was close to him, looking up into his face, he frowned down at her and crossed his arms over his tummy defensively. 

"Come and lie down." She coaxed, taking his hands in her own, piloting him towards the bed she'd prepared. 

"Only me with nothing on then? What about you?" He muttered darkly. 

"I can undress if you want me to, but it won't make much difference...." 

"What? Why?" His voice went up a notch. 

She took a flight mask out of the drawer behind her, the kind you're given on long haul flights, to help you sleep.

"Because I want you to put this on." 

His eyes widened, there was panic there. 

"Shit! This is gonna be some fucking fetish thing.....I knew it......I told you......you're not gonna fucking tie me up are you? Fuck Sam.....you can't......I'll fucking lose my rag......I mean it.......it's happened before.......I'm......."

"Shhhh! Lay down. Put this on. I'll take my clothes off too if that's what you want, just keep my knickers on.......okay? Then we're both the same.......there's going to be absolutely no tying, whipping, plugging or anything like that.......so don't worry........it's just something pleasant and sensual, and relaxing. Please Malc........."

He puffed again and obeyed with great reluctance. 

He lay on his stomach, head to one side, delaying the moment, his eyes still uncovered, craning his head, trying to see what she was up to.  
Her fingers snapped the mask down, blocking the view of her gorgeous, now exposed, body.

Shutting him off into darkness. He shivered in spite of himself. 

Her measured voice reached him as if from a distance, and he turned his head desperately, panic rising. 

"This is what I want you to do..... I want you to try and focus solely on my hands. Nothing else. Can you do that? No thinking, no talking.....just concentrate completely on my hands......."

Malcolm grunted his assent, shut his eyes under the mask.  
He felt the bed give under her knee as she came to his side. 

"Take a few deep breaths in and out for me Malcolm, slowly......." Her voice was silken, quiet, soothing. 

When he did as she bade him there was an aroma of sandalwood and citrus, close to his nose, the scent seemed to pervade his nostrils, seeping inside him. Filling the air. 

"Fuck! Sam, don't leave me like this......" He hissed, a tremble of anticipation running through him. 

"Shhh! No talking! Just focus all your attention on my hands." Her mouth came unexpectedly close to his ear. 

One hand resting on the back of his neck, the other just above the waistband of his boxers, which were now folded down, she slowly began to slide them towards each other. There was aromatic oil on her palms.  
Malcolm reclined there, his mind wandering at first, flitting from thought to thought, so many hateful thoughts, but then gradually homing in on the movement across his body. 

Fuck! 

She was massaging him. 

Fuck! It was going to do his head in!


	8. Floating.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is teaching Malcolm that two people can be intimate......without being intimate!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the third chapter exploring the prompt from @flydye88. 
> 
> There are depths to Malcolm, that even he isn't aware of.......

CHAPTER EIGHT  
FLOATING.

 

She was making his skin tingle, goosebumps. 

It was luxurious. 

Fingers kneading every vertebrae, smoothing across his shoulder blades, down the centre of his spine to the top of his buttocks, circling and repeating slowly.  
Deep shiatsu using the palms of her hands, her fingers and her knuckles. Ironing out the kinks, soothing the aches and pains.

"Pressure okay?" She whispered after a few moments. 

"Uh huh." Malcolm groaned in reply. 

As her hands flowed over him, Malcolm began to feel himself giving in, relaxing, surrendering to the sheer bliss of her touch.  
Feeling the contact and her proximity was calming, even though he was blind. He had more problems with the visual impairment than anything else, but as long as he knew she was close.........she used her forearms to apply extra pressure and he moaned beneath her as he felt the clicks and pops of tension in his muscles begin to dissipate. 

After what seemed a long while, although he wasn't sure because he quickly lost all sense of time, he heard her ask him gently to turn over. 

Hardly aware, he obeyed languidly. Lying on his back, settling himself, legs and arms outstretched. 

Beginning at the soles of his feet and toes, working up his calves to his knees, then his thighs.  
His entire focus was now on her hands, and what they were doing to him. 

Everything else seemed to fade into obscurity.

The heady sensations he felt as the glide of her hands moved dextrously up the inside of his thighs.

Malcolm began to float. 

It made him feel fucking strange. 

Dopamine, serotonin, endorphins, a heady mix of chemicals flooding his brain.

Drifting.  
Limbs as heavy as lead.  
She was rubbing his own hands now, his palms, down each individual finger, the sweep of her thumb over the back of each hand and wrist. 

His arms, the crease of his elbow, shoulders and throat. Then down his chest. 

Taut sinew released and eased. 

Her fingers teased his nipples briefly and his breathing hitched momentarily. 

He groaned.

A twitch from his hips. 

Inside the mask with his eyes tightly closed he could see colours under his lids. Like a child's kaleidoscope. 

No thought now. Mind totally empty. Horrible memories banished. For the first time in many years. 

Sensations prickled across his skin, as if it were electrically charged.  
Chest rising and falling more slowly as he sank deeper. As if he were melting into the bed. 

Profound relaxation. Euphoria.  
A headspace he'd rarely, if ever, experienced. 

When the tip of her tongue touched his left nipple, he sucked in a breath. First one side then the other, warm and wet. Teasing gently. Fuck, but she knew how to push his buttons! 

A little whimper escaped him, and he lifted his hips slightly again. 

Her hands moved slowly down his sides, fingers sliding just under his elastic waistband. 

He drew in his abs and gave a gentle whine of pleasure. So erotic. 

Easing his boxers down. Parting his legs slightly so that she could stroke between them. 

A slight tremor of anticipation in his thigh muscle. 

"Stay relaxed Malcolm, just relax into it." She purred. "No tension, just long slow breaths." 

Gently massaging his groin area, cupping and stroking his balls. His shaft thickened and stiffened under her hands. 

He was erect and very turned on, but he felt different, not desperate but buoyant. Like he was outside of himself.  
Lightheaded. Detached. Rippling, soft waves of delicious pleasure washing through him. 

Sensory tendrils coiling around his body.  
Oh God! The feel of her warm oiled hands on his penis, her finger tip circling his sensitive head, her thumb against his slit.  
"Fuck!" He murmured hazily. 

Still focussing on her hands. Completely and utterly lost to her in a glorious dream of rising sensation.  
Letting out small mewling sounds of need as she bought him closer and closer. 

His mouth fell open as the pressure began to build in his scrotum.

"Please!" He hissed plaintively from between his teeth. The vein in his neck throbbing. 

"Shhh! Come for me Malcolm. Just let it wash over you. Release!" Her voice so velvet soft, so alluring.

He came at her command, without a sound. Just a sucking in of air as he let go. 

His cock pulsing, pumping white streaks of semen across his stomach. His hips lifting and sinking rhythmically until he was done. 

Then a deep satisfied sigh of contentment, followed by the touch of her lips warm against his.  
A weird sensation with his vision obscured, as it was unexpected. Her tongue teasing, stretching up his head to follow her, as she pulled back slightly, mouths engulfing one another, long and hard. 

Separating reluctantly, her teeth teasing his bottom lip, pulling it out slightly, before releasing him and easing the blindfold up. 

"Oh fuck! Sam! Fucking hell." He breathed. 

"Good?" She smiled.

"Fuck!" He nodded emphatically.

Taking a wash cloth she cleaned him tenderly, as he watched, still euphoric, but boneless, unable or unwilling to help. She gave him a drink of water, and a t shirt, dragged the duvet over them both, then curled herself beside him, cradling him against her. 

He floated for a long time. His eyes closed, breathing deeply.

oOo

It was several hours before he woke. 

Still feeling a little strange. Like he'd been cleansed. Washed clean. 

Light, as if he'd been high on drugs. 

He was alone. It was daylight. Fuck.....how long had he been here? Since the evening before? 

His stomach growled. Leaving the bed he went in search of her. 

She was in the kitchen. Threading his arms around her as she stood by the kitchen counter, he nuzzled her neck.

"Up early?" He whispered. 

"Yeah. Couldn't sleep." She replied, turning in his embrace and placing a kiss on the end of his nose, tousling his bed head. 

"You okay?" He asked, looking down at her sleepily. 

"Meh! A bit of pain, a burning sensation, and fatigued, but not able to sleep.....you know?" 

He nodded. "Uh huh." 

She busied herself distractedly as he sat and watched, she didn't speak but he could see her thoughts working hard behind the mask of strength she wore.  
She was pouring juice, her hand was shaking, without warning the glass tipped, and the orange liquid spilled everywhere, running down the counter onto the floor, under the appliances on the worktop, and down her front.  
She let out a shriek as the glass shattered.  
Surveying the carnage before her in dismay, her hands suddenly came up to her face and she began to tremble violently at the shoulders, silent crying.......not a sound, except the drip, drip of the juice.  
"Fuck! fuck! Fuck it!" She cried. 

Strong wiry arms enveloped her. Holding her close and tight. Whispered words.  
"It's okay Sam. It's okay. Come and sit, I'll deal with it."  
She rounded on him in a fury. Her fists against his chest. 

"I thought I was going to lose you Malcolm."

He pulled back, looking confused.

"I thought that masked guy was going to shoot you. And when he hit you in the face with the rifle butt! GOD!!"

She cried out in anguish, tears renewed, sobbing now against him. 

"I see it every time I shut my eyes! Every time Malcolm! And it's horrible.......you......falling......bleeding.......and you're looking at me in despair.......as if to say 'it's okay Sam, you'll be okay'.........and it's NOT fucking okay.......I'M NOT FUCKING OKAY! I'm not!" 

She paused, then seemed to diminish. 

"I'm not!" She ended lamely. 

"Oh my poor Sam." He rubbed a hand against her back, trying to comfort her as best he could. 

"Malcolm, I need to get away. I feel like I need fresh air and open space......it's really early, why don't we pack an overnight bag and go to the coast?"

"Alright! I'm up for that. Where?" He scratched through his hair thoughtfully. 

"I know a little place.....very quiet and sleepy, old fashioned. In Suffolk. It's only a couple of hours drive. Let's just go.......please......?"

"I'll go jump in the shower!" He declared.


	9. Flashbacks of a Fool.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has suggested a weekend away on the coast, for Malcolm it's an eye opener in more ways than one, and he begins to open up just a little......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the fourth chapter and we are still firmly concerned with the prompt fill, exploring, teaching, learning, and it's a hard road for Malcolm to travel.

CHAPTER NINE.  
FLASHBACKS OF A FOOL.

 

Within hours they were walking together along a completely deserted beach. It was a dull day, blustery, but not particularly cold. 

The grey sea churning restlessly. White horses riding the wave tops. 

Malcolm walked hunched against the breeze, as if it might blow him over. Hands thrust deep in his pockets, head down.  
Sam with her arm through his, gazing out across the horizon. 

Some would describe it as bleak, but she loved it, she felt free. Sucking in great lungfuls of fresh salty air.

Reaching the dunes at the beach head, they stopped, and from a canvas beach bag she produced a travel rug. 

"Let's just sit a while." She said quietly. 

Once seated they were sheltered from the wind, it seemed to die away as they lowered themselves, and the sun peeped hopefully through the cloud layer. 

Sam arranged herself and him carefully. 

"Sit here Malcolm, like this......."

Resting her back against the bank formed by the sand dunes. She guided him gently to sit between her legs and pulled him back to lie against her, low, his head in her lap, her arms across his chest. His hands were clasped together over his stomach, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. 

With a little sigh of contentment, narrowing his eyes he looked up to the heavens.  
The clouds breaking now, drawing apart, scudding across the sky in fluffy puffs of candy floss, the sun lighting them and tinting them yellow. 

Sam began to stroke his head gently, her fingers teasing through his short hair, making him hum with pleasure and close his eyes. 

"Fucking wonderful!" He groaned. 

For some ten minutes she kept it up until his chest was rising and falling evenly. 

"Malcolm, I want to try something new again, are you up for it? Like last night. I want you to focus only on what you can hear." She said, quietly. 

"Hmmm?" He murmured drowsily. 

"I want to explore with you different ways to help you relax, and for us to be close....without.....well, without actually doing it.......you know?" 

"Sam, it's me who should be doing stuff for you.....l......" She cut him off gently but firmly, with the pressure of a finger on his lips. 

"No, Malc, it's about _mutual_ pleasure, and you always think of mine before your own....."

He didn't open his eyes, as she was currently circling her fingers on his temples, and it felt so fucking blissful he didn't want her to stop. 

"Concentrate on the sounds you can hear, keep your eyes closed." 

"'Kay!" He shifted slightly, obeying without question and began to listen intently. 

He was getting good at this sensory shit, and after the night before and the way she made him feel, he felt a little more confident. Although the blindfold had almost been too much for him.

The roar of the waves first hit his ears, crashing onto the stony shore. They played in a musical rhythm. Quiet for a moment, then a resounding 'whoosh', as they broke.  
Followed by a rippling tinkling sound as each wave withdrew, to be replaced by another. He noticed the sound varied, depending on the size of the wave, sometimes a crash, sometimes a sweeping noise. Like a stiff broom over concrete. He could pick out the crackle of the pebbles as they chased each other, tumbling and crunching under the relentless power of the sea. It was mesmeric.  
Sea birds, mainly gulls, wheeling and calling somewhere overhead. A mewing cry, a screech, hanging there effortlessly above their heads.  
  
Behind the dunes were marshes, with tall reeds waving and whispering constantly, the _ter-wit, ter-wit_ call of a curlew, heard but never seen in the distance. There was a moan from the wind as it whistled and muttered around them, toothless, yet biting, rustling the dry sea grass which dotted the sand dunes, whipping up little eddy's of sand grains like a whisper of willo-the-wisp, which tickled his skin delicately.  
Occasionally he caught small sounds of movement from Sam, as her hands combed through his hair or touched his cheek, his earlobes, his temples. He felt her shift and lean over him. 

"Malcolm, tell me about your flashbacks. What do you see?" She whispered, her voice low, but probing. 

"Fuck.....what's this.....therapy?" He asked lazily, not opening his eyes. 

"Answer the question." 

He took a heavy breath and blew out through his mouth. 

"I see the barrel of that gun, chiefly." He said eventually, then, after a pause. "I hear the sound of it firing, blood spreading onto my white shirt. Fear that I'm slipping away. Fear for you......I keep seeing your eyes.......the horror in them......Sam, do I have to talk about this shit?" 

"Yes. You do Malcolm." Her hands slid under his jacket onto his chest, his heart was beating easily, the steady thrum increasing slightly at her touch. 

"It's like I can see right down the barrel. And it's always in slow motion, and I try to move but I'm not quick enough. Sometimes it's not me that's hit.......occasionally it's you.......and I wake up in a cold sweat......I tend to dream it when we're not together. I see that guy's masked face too......but it's grotesque, misshapen, horrific....." He stopped suddenly and his chest began to shake. His hands coming up to his face, hiding it.

"No more, no more......please.......can't do it........enough, enough......" He sobbed. 

"It's okay Malc, no more. You don't have to say any more." Her voice trembled. 

He sat up, propped on one elbow, and turned himself. He spoke in staccato sentences, punctuated by sobs. 

"Fuck! Sam......You're doing all this for me.....intimate things, showing me all this closeness. 

Teaching me. 

And I don't deserve it! 

It's making me feel so fucking strange. 

I've never had this before. It scares me. 

All the depth of love you can have with someone when you can't love them physically......I've never been that fucking lucky.....not with anyone, not ever.....and I was married for fucks sake!" 

He gave a bitter laugh, suddenly. 

"Ha! Now there's a fucking therapy session right there! _'Tell me about your childhood Mr Tucker'_......fucking fuck me! Where to fucking start? _'Tell me about the manipulative controlling bitch you were stupid and gullible enough to marry, and how she fucked you up even more_?'" 

He was weeping uncontrollably now, unable to hold it in any longer.

Sam didn't speak, she just held him close and let him cry himself out. 

A small kiss from her turned into a desperate insistent snog from him. He was hard out of his mind suddenly, frotting himself against her leg, his hands pushing under her clothes, breath sharp and ragged.

"Fuck it......Sam I want you so bad.....and the fact I can't have you is torture." 

"I want you too, Malc.....believe me, it's as much torture for me as for you!" 

She unfastened his trousers without hesitation, hands sliding down inside his boxers, pulling them away, exposing him to the cool air, taking him out, sliding down his body, right there in the open, taking him fully into her mouth, he fell backwards with a strangled cry. His fingers in her hair, pushing on her head, urging her onwards.

"Fuck! Yes! Yes!" 

He hissed......writhing beneath her, looking down to see his cock disappear between her lips, her eyes on him......

"Sam.....shit......I'm gonna......." He tried to warn her, give her time to move away. 

"Fuck! FUCK!" He released. 

His back arched, legs bent up at the knees as he lifted his backside off the rug completely. Head thrown back exposing his throat, mouth and eyes wide open, as if in shock.  
Gasping loud and fast. 

Before Sam could do anything more, and before he'd recovered, he was sitting up, grabbing her strongly and pulling her over on top of him, he grasped her chin firmly and slammed his mouth against hers, forcing her lips apart, before she had time to swallow, he thrust into her open mouth, taking back all of himself, fucking her with his tongue until he was satisfied he'd got it all, before spitting roughly into the sand. Then released her, fell back, breathing heavily, his own mouth and chin smeared and wet.  
Cursing himself under his ragged breath, as she seemingly unperturbed, stroked him tenderly, waiting for him to calm, tucking him into his underwear to cover him, doing up his fly.  
When he eventually regained the power of speech, he chastised her, his tone filled with shame and apology.

"Why the fuck......? Tried to warn you.....to pull away......letting me come like that.....in your mouth....like some wanton fucking cunt......like you're my fucking whore......for Christ's sake Sam.....why did you let me?" 

Her face impassive, she remained silent, waiting for him to run out of expletives. 

"Finished?" She asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

"Yeah! Fuck!" He laid his head back again, still recovering from the euphoria of the orgasm.

"I wanted you to. I'm not bothered by it! Why are you? It's no big deal. Having you come in my mouth doesn't make me a whore, or you a cunt. It's sensual, it's pleasurable. There's nothing wrong in it, it's not abnormal Malcolm. Now stop fussing! There's a flask in that bag, let's have a hot drink and a sandwich and forget about it." 

Malcolm found himself laughing in spite of himself. 

"Forget about it? Fuck me, but you're an odd one! I've just been given head by the most hot, the most gorgeous, the most wonderful woman and received what is probably the most erotic orgasm of my entire life, in the open, on a beach, with my dick out, and she tells me to forget about it? Fucking amazing.....but definitely crazy!" 

Sam smiled gently. 

"I'm glad you enjoyed it......but you didn't have to......'attack' me afterwards like that.....it wasn't necessary." 

He hung his head, cast his eyes away from her. 

"I was ashamed of myself." He said, quietly. 

"Seems to me like you often are. I guess one day you'll let me find out why." She murmured, and passed him a mug of hot tea, reaching over and dropping a kiss on his brow as she did so.


	10. Your Night.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is planning a night especially for Sam, but he doesn't really know what she likes, so it's all guesswork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is still part of the prompt from @flydye88. Malcolm and Sam learning more about each other and how they can still be close despite not being intimate.

CHAPTER TEN.  
YOUR NIGHT. 

 

The working week was its usual manic self.   
It was moving towards Conference season and there was a great deal to be done.   
Speeches to write, press interviews for Tom to give, various persistent rumours to be denied and vilified, mainly to do with a foreign visit which Tom had claimed on expenses. 

Malcolm and Sam barely had more than a few odd minutes together. 

Stolen moments.

A second when he would grip her hand and kiss it, when she took him in his tea, or she would hug him briefly, before he dashed off for yet another meeting. 

Malcolm actually surprised himself by feeling that some weight had been lifted from his shoulders following his revelations on the beach. Telling Sam something of his troubles was cathartic, he felt somewhat lighter as a result. 

Friday came at last, and things finally quietened down enough to allow Malcolm to take a breather.   
Sam had perused the speech he'd written, taken out the swear words and corrected his grammar, returning it, she knocked and entered his office. 

He was standing by the window, gazing out. Looking reflective.   
Turning as she crossed towards him, he held out his arms to her with a puff of relief.   
She stepped into his embrace, leaning against the warmth of his chest, feeling his crisp shirt under her cheek. The masculine scent of him, his weary sigh of contentment to have her there at last. 

"Long week!" She commented, looking up into his face. 

"Fucking long! Thank Christ it's Friday." He bent his head slightly and captured her mouth in a long, slow and deep kiss. The little sound he made as he drew her closer, made her smile against his lips.   
The door swung open at that moment, as Julius entered.....stopped dead and immediately started to retrace his steps.  
"Sorry!" He exclaimed, bowing slightly and casting his eyes down.  
"Fuck off!" Malcolm called. "I told you before......FUCKING KNOCK!" 

Lord Nicholson backed away hurriedly and closed the door quietly behind him.

"Suppose you'd better see what he wanted." Sam smiled, touching his lips with the tips of her fingers.  
"The old cunt can wait!" Malcolm replied and sank back into her, picking up where he left off. 

"You're coming to my house this evening." He said, as he broke their clinch reluctantly. "I've hardly been home all week and tonight is your night......."

"My night?" She queried, scanning his face, looking for clues. 

"Yeah! Been planning it.......listen.....Sam......I don't know what the fuck you like and stuff, but I wanna make it special yeah?.......I wanna do something for you.......like you did for me......try at least."

Sam was genuinely moved. She knew how difficult all this 'real relationship' deal was for him, and how hard he was trying to be the 'boyfriend' he thought she wanted. 

"Malcolm, that's lovely! And whatever it is I'm sure I'll love it.......I deeply appreciate it......but you really don't have to do something just because I did, I don't need that from you.......just having you is enough, and knowing you love me." 

"Fuck Sam, let me do this....yeah? This is a really big deal for me.......I used to plan nice things for my ex and she'd throw it back in my face......never knew what to do.....right or wrong.......but with you it's so different.......you're so different......and I wanna do something to please you.......so bad......"

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes, and she kissed his forehead gently. 

"Malcolm, sweetie, you please me just by being mine, you don't have to prove yourself to me, or try to impress me......you do that all the time, every single day. I love you.......and you've been so fantastic since I've had this infection thing."

"Fuck! Am I really yours? Wanna be Sam......so much." 

She nodded and touched his cheek with her palm. 

"And I'm yours......okay? All yours." 

"Fuck!" Malcolm's heart was pounding in his chest. 

He actually belonged to someone....properly...... _really belonged_ , for the first time in his adult life. Completely and wholly.   
It was a lot to take in. 

oOo

By the time Sam reached Malcolm's place that evening she was already tired. The combination of a trying week and still not feeling one hundred percent, had taken its toll.   
Malcolm must have been weary himself, but that wasn't going to interfere with his careful plans. 

At the sound of the doorbell he leapt up. Opening his front door and ushering her impatiently inside, divesting her of coat and bag, giving her a warm and very welcome hug. 

From his kitchen delicious smells emanated. She sniffed appreciatively. 

"Mmm! What's cooking?" She asked, as he handed her a glass of chilled wine. 

"Dinner! You'll find out later. First I want you to come up here....." His face was eager, his pinched features nervous and jittery. 

Taking her hand he almost pulled her along the hallway and up the stairs. 

"Malcolm, what is this? What's going on?" She almost stumbled, so keen was he to steer her towards the bathroom. 

Swinging open the door he piloted her inside. 

Sam gasped. 

There were candles alight everywhere, the tub was full of warm bubbly water. Towels and a soft robe laid ready.

She turned to glance at his anxious face, gave him a melting look. 

"Oh Malc!" She whispered, tearing up, she put her arms around his neck and pulled him close. "Bless you!" 

"Is it alright?" He enquired, with a worried expression.

"More than alright. It's wonderful! And just what I need." 

He took pains to help her undress, handed her into the bath, waited as she lowered herself into the comforting depths.  
"The bubbles are safe for you.....I checked." He commented, kneeling down beside her as she relaxed back with a sigh.

"You're a dear!" 

She closed her eyes with a grateful smile. 

"I'm gonna leave you to relax, go see to the food, I'll be back in a bit.....okay?" 

"Mmm hmm." She murmured sleepily. 

He left her to it, and Sam had to confess that she felt gloriously relaxed and pampered. The water soothed her, the scent wafting over her and making her drowsy.   
Finally she was forced to relinquish her reverie, as the water temperature began to drop.   
Easing herself out she reached for the towel and wrapped it around herself. 

Malcolm had made lasagne with a crisp green salad. They ate together, and enjoyed a glass of wine.   
"This is wonderful!" She praised, "I was really hungry. I didn't know you could cook." 

"One of my many talents!" He said, reddening bashfully. "I have fresh strawberries for afters!"

Warm and full, they curled together on the couch, soft music playing in the background.   
Placing a little kiss on the top of her head Malcolm cuddled her into his side, her legs tucked underneath her.   
She winced slightly, as he pulled her closer.   
"What's wrong?" His concern was immediate.   
"A knot, in my shoulder." She rubbed at it ineffectively. 

"Let me." He said quickly, turning himself.   
Loosening the waist tie of her robe, her back towards him, she opened it and bared her shoulders to him. Her hair still clipped up into a butterfly clip. 

"Fuck! Sam! So bloody beautiful." His hand ghosted to the nape of her neck and she shivered with anticipation.   
Gently, his fingers explored and kneaded across her aching shoulders.   
She hummed her approval, bending her head from side to side experimentally, as his hands were replaced by the touch of his lips against her. 

"Your skin is exquisite, like velvet, so soft." He whispered, stroking gently across her back.

There was a sharp intake of breath at the sensation, and she turned herself to face him, lifting her head so that his mouth could continue its exploration of her milky throat and neck. 

With an unpremeditated flourish he scooped her up into his arms, her's wrapping around his neck and holding tight to him as he carried her upstairs to his bedroom.  
Laying her back against the pillows, following her down, opening the robe completely and taking in the sight of her naked body, partly beneath his. 

He stroked her tenderly, his fingers exploring her breasts, her nipples, down her sides and across her stomach.

"You're the most lovely thing I've ever seen Sam, truly. You're a fucking Queen, yeah? Shit! I just fucking worship you, you're faultless, like porcelain, not a blemish, every part of you is like an artwork."

As he spoke his mouth played across her torso, where his hands had recently been, kissing her with great reverence. His lips pausing over each of her breasts, suckling her almost as a child might, making her gasp with pleasure. 

"Take off your clothes Malcolm, let me see you and touch you." She murmured, her body lifting towards him slightly as waves of desire hit her. 

"Later." He replied gently. "This is about you......not me.......you've been teaching me, showing me how we can still be close, and yet not make love.....it's something I've never known before but I'm learning .....it makes me feel so fucking strange, deep inside, like I'm going to burst into flames and I can't do a thing about it......I want to tell you stuff, share with you......but it's so fucking complicated, and I'm stumbling along in the dark........lost......and I'm so fucking tired of it Sam, so tired." 

"I'm here for you." She said quietly. "Whatever it is you have to say, I'll listen....okay? But only if you want to." 

His hands caressed the insides of her thighs, his body positioned between them, keeping them apart. His mouth moving along them gently, moving up to kiss above her pubic bone. 

"Malcolm!" She hissed, "God, I want you so much."  
"Can't." He whispered. "But I'll try to give you the next best thing, if I can......show you what you mean to me, that I fucking belong to you........if you'll have me......" 

"Of course I'll have you!........Oh Christ!" 

She felt his nose nudge against her as his mouth moved lower.   
"Fuck, Sam, you smell so good, love the taste of you."   
His tongue touched her clitoris gently, and she pulled back slightly at the intense sensation. 

"Won't go lower Sam, I wouldn't hurt you......trust me?" He whispered, pausing and looking up at her.   
With a little breath of relief she nodded and relaxed into his gentle pressure against her, sinking back, giving in to the feel of his tongue softly lapping her, moaning shamelessly as he drove her closer and closer, until she came with a cry of his name, touching his hair with her finger tips. 

"Oh God! Malcolm.....no one has ever made me feel like you do !" 

His head came up, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, she drew him up towards her, pulling on his shirt, engulfing her mouth with his own in a deep kiss.   
"Taste yourself." He murmured. "So fucking wonderful Sam, love to watch you come, feeling you tremble beneath me, and knowing it was me that made you do it. Never get tired of it, yeah?"

Resting his head down against her chest, they lay still. His body partly atop hers.

She could feel his erection through his clothes, but he made no complaint, nor asked her to touch him. Which she wondered at but didn't question. Content as he seemed to be left wanting but to have satisfied her.   
He almost relished it. To know he was hard out of his mind for her, craving her, and would willingly stay that way. 

They lay spooned together, his stiff prick pressed against her backside. One arm over her hip, his hand against her belly.   
"Fucking love you." He murmured, she hummed a reply sleepily, in a post orgasmic haze, closing her hand over his.   
"Never leave me Malc.........please.....I need you so much."

A jerk of shock shot through him. He had never heard those words before in his life.   
He was forever thinking about her ending it with him, that she'd have had enough at some point and want out......but this?   
She really needed him? Was begging him to stay with her? 

He.....Malcolm Tucker......was needed. She wanted him in her life, for keeps? 

Swallowing thickly, he tried to keep his sniffling to a minimum, so as not to alert her, as she drifted off to sleep. Tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes, running down his temple and nose and into his ear as he lay on his side. 

This was not what he'd expected at all. 

Could it really be that she loved him that much? 

Why?


	11. Packing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is packing in preparation for heading to the Party Conference. He finds something that sends him down a road paved with the most painful of memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter of the prompt chapters, from @flydye88. I just want to say a huge thank you to her, because from that idea has come all this 'stuff' and a whole storyline to add to the 'Shitstorm' au. 
> 
> In this chapter we learn a little of Malcolm's back story, and some details of his marriage.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.  
PACKING.

Party Conference week. Brighton this year.  
Malcolm was still at home, packing his suitcase. Sunday evening. The weekend over. 

Monday to Friday. 

At least Sam was coming with him, she'd gone back to her flat to collect her things. He booked them separate rooms for appearances sake, the hotel he'd chosen was at least a decent one. No one would take much notice of them or where they slept, during conference week pretty much anything went. It was a free for all. 

They were travelling down together on the train. 

Hunting through the dresser for the spare charger for his razor, he came across a photo.  
It was caught at the back of the drawer. 

Seeing it stopped his heart. 

It was of himself and his ex wife. 

A wave of nausea swept over him. 

When they separated he thought he'd destroyed every picture he had. Erasing her from his life completely.  
Somehow this one was missed. Jammed there at the back.  
A memory returned to punish him, as if to remind him what a worthless stupid cunt he was, and just as his admission of flashbacks and talking to Sam about it had made him feel slightly better about himself.

Malcolm sat back heavily in the armchair. The photograph held between his long fingers.  
He stared at it long and hard. 

He looked young. No grey hair. Not pinched and gaunt. Relaxed. In love. 

Fuck, but he had been. So in love. 

In seconds he was lost in reminiscence. 

She had been so lovely. Intelligent....in a smart and savvy way, bright and witty. She'd captured his fucking heart. 

Hook, line and sinker.

No one had ever paid him that much attention before, and he was flattered, soon wrapped up in her completely. 

He'd been so raw in comparison, and inexperienced. But he was up and coming, going places.  
Although a square peg in a round hole, up against the graduates and the posh knobs.....he was good, and they saw it in him.  
So did she. 

A gifted journalist becoming well respected, and destined for higher tables. 

Malcolm had courted her, in the old fashioned sense of the word.  
Because that's what he did, a gentleman.  
If he'd learned nothing else in his shit childhood and adolescence it was that women should be treated right.  
He bought her gifts. Paid for everything. Opened doors for her. And she lapped it up.  
_"Oh you're so sweet Malcolm!"_  
Proud to have her on his arm at functions. Complimented that she even entertained him. Chose to ignore any faults she may have, saw only her good points. Fuck, he had faults of his own aplenty, who was he to judge? 

Her own career was just beginning, and she was fiercely ambitious, both for herself and him. 

It was she who'd suggested they marry. The meeting of two like minds she'd said. Separately they could make a little noise, together they could take on the world.  
So smitten. So sure it was right. What he wanted, what he'd always wanted. 

A wife. A home. A family someday. 

Almost as soon as the honeymoon was over it began. Subtle at first. Little digs.  
Then the lies, the constant needling. Pressure.  
Such hurtful things. Rounding on him at the slightest provocation.  
It confused him. Didn't know how to handle it.  
He wasn't working hard enough, didn't want it enough. Wasn't rising fast enough. Push, push, push. Subtle manipulation, careful and calculated, so it appeared any decision made was his own.

 

Nothing he ever did was good enough for her. Yet he constantly strove. Desperate to prove himself worthy. No present he bought, no romantic thing he planned, the more he tried harder and harder to please her, the more she convinced him of his inadequacy. Chipped away at his self worth, something he'd struggled with since childhood.  
Seeds sown. 

Not that it took much. 

A failure as a husband and as a man. 

As he'd always been told for as long as he could remember. 

She began to control him, and he allowed it, because a large part of him agreed. 

He'd been told many years before he needed to be controlled, kept down.....no Malcolm, don't go there.....don't think about that.......

Every aspect of his life. His money, the jobs he took, where they went on holiday, where they lived. She oversaw the people they met, the places they were seen out and about. 

Complete control in the bedroom too.  
She'd wanted him totally submissive but there were certain things Malcolm would not, could not do, lengths to which, even with all the love he had for her, he couldn't bring himself to endure.  
So Mrs Tucker decided instead when they had sex, what he did for her, and if he was going to get to come or not. Invariably he wasn't allowed, but that was good......he needed that she told him....kept him keen......kept him desperate for her, and he was.......for any crumb of affection she might bestow. He felt rewarded, so grateful, if she consented to him.  
When she'd suggested a baby, Malcolm finally demurred. He wasn't sure, doubts had been creeping in, his fears confirmed when he discovered she'd stopped taking her contraceptive pill, without discussing it with him. 

Malcolm began to feel increasingly trapped into something he wasn't ready for just yet. 

The harder he tried to please her the more distant she seemed.  
They argued. She cried. Malcolm gave in.  
Sometimes she would goad him. Make him so angry he wanted to lash out. But he never did. Swore he would never be that man. The man he'd grown up with as his father.  
_"Go on Malcolm, hit me....you know you want to...."_  
But he'd punch the wall instead. Almost broke his knuckles once. 

 

A cycle of frustration in every way.  
She encouraged Malcolm to accept bigger and more high profile jobs. Taking him away from home more and more frequently.  
Gullible fool that he was, he would ring her dutifully each evening. Desperate to talk to her, tell her how much he loved her.  
So cold and distant her response sometimes. 

Rushing home to her early, and unexpectedly, from Party Conference, ha! the irony. Dying to see her, tell her how well it went. First time in the main press pack, interviewed the Prime Minister, roundly praised by all.

Letting himself joyfully into their home. Sure she'd be pleased with him this time.

Catching her red handed. In bed with his senior colleague. 

Malcolm's whole world fell apart. 

Betrayed. Broken. 

As he sued for divorce, she hung him out by the bollocks to dry. More and more lies.  
She cited mental cruelty, withholding of sexual favours, said he'd threatened her with violence, that she was frightened of him, you name it, she came up with it. 

There had been many other affairs, not all of which came to light, but she swore on oath that she was forced to look elsewhere for what she didn't get at home, running to the arms of another for comfort in her fear.  
All her liaisons were with executives, editors, people who could advance her career. 

A glorified cuckold. 

Just a rung on the ladder.

He wanted nothing more to do with her. He wanted her out, out of his bed, his home, his life. 

Publicly and loudly ridiculed, it seemed everyone and his mother knew of her infidelities, except him.  
Poor gullible fool. They'd all discussed it behind his back, thinking he knew and just went with it.  
Every nuance of their private life splashed in neon letters ten feet high, but he didn't care. Nor did he put up much of a fight, somehow he was just glad it had happened now, and that he'd found out, wasn't being made a fool of anymore.

He put up and shut up. 

Paid what she asked. Sold his car, their home, bought his small two bed place. She did very nicely thank you, had no complaints.  
She tried to diss him to anyone who'd listen, but fortunately for Malcolm, he had some respect in the print business, he commanded loyalty, because of his integrity and his work ethic. 

It was she who ended up coming off worse in the end. She faded away, bitter, vitriolic. Into obscurity. 

Malcolm closed himself off to love. 

Never wanted to repeat that time in his life, never wanted to be made to feel that way again, or be in such a vulnerable position, his soul bared. 

Taken on as Director of Communications, his ex tried to come back to him for more as his fortunes rose. But the courts actually backed him this time. Thank god there was some small justice. 

Rearing her ugly head further embittered him. From then on he kissed goodbye to any grain of happiness he might once have looked forward to.  
It was him against the world.  
He continued to wear his wedding ring as a deterrent......Stay away. I'm spoken for. Off the market. Not interested.....it worked a treat. 

Fuck 'em all.......

Then Sam had come to work for him. 

At first he hadn't really taken her in. She was just another PA and they were two a penny. 

The gradual dawning that he might have feelings for her in spite of himself were, quite frankly, terrifying.  
Years since he'd really noticed a woman from the point of view of fancying her. He'd had a couple of flings true, but he remained resolutely aloof, they'd drifted away, and he wasn't sorry.

Sam was different somehow. 

Dirty old man.  
She was much younger than he. Nothing whatever to recommend him to her. He felt deeply ashamed of his feelings.  
Fought them with every ounce of strength he possessed.

Refused to give in to them.  
Denied himself and punished himself more and more to try and keep them down.

Knew in his heart he was wasting his time anyway. She was fresh and shining, clever, idealistic. He was old, dried up, and wizened. A solid ball of fuck.  
No way would she ever reciprocate. 

So grateful was he though, that they gradually became friends. A friendship he valued highly.  
There was an easy rapport, and it meant a great deal to him. She didn't hate him at least.

It was a while before he noticed she didn't really date. 

He'd always been aware of how kind she was, unfailingly so, but he thought it was just her way.  
Little things she said sometimes, however, set alarm bells ringing.  
_"Malcolm you don't take enough care of yourself......"_  
_"I don't have a plus one......the plus one I want doesn't know I want him....."_

What started out as small acts of charity became more and more meaningful. Above and beyond the call of duty.  
Often he found himself looking for special presents for her at Christmas or birthday. Or finding ways to thank her for things she'd done for him.  
Always she'd blush prettily, perhaps drop a small kiss on his cheek, and it would buoy him up for the whole day.  
He enjoyed banter with her. Exchanges they shared, suddenly he started to look forward to the working day again.  
Although he knew he was being a fool, he had to cling to something, so long alone, so long lonely.  
A naturally outgoing and gregarious man, witty, dry of humour.  
Somehow she seemed to appreciate and welcome the little moments they shared. 

Then the day she asked him to her place......the start of it all. 

Malcolm looked down at the photograph again. A long, hard look at the man he was then, carefree, happy.........on the outside maybe. He knew in his heart of hearts that he'd been fucked up long before then. Tip of the iceberg. 

Right from boyhood. 

An overwhelming sadness suddenly closed in on him. 

Sitting there, alone, surrounded by his unpacked clothes and toiletries. 

A single photo. 

Causing such pain. 

Malcolm leaned forwards and put his head in his hands. 

Keep it down Malcolm. Don't let it come out. Never ever tell. All your own fault.

The ache in his chest seemed to build and swell, then burst, and he began to shake and cry. Bringing his feet up on to the chair, curling his knees tight to his body.  
Rocking slightly.

Then suddenly, as if in answer to a unsaid prayer, arms were surrounding him. 

Sam.

She must have come in, rung the doorbell, not received an answer, but knew he was there because he'd said he would be packing. Let herself in with the key he'd only recently given her. Called his name.  
So wrapped in his own misery he'd shut out everything. Didn't hear her. Coming silently up the stairs. 

And here she was. 

Kneeling there. Cradling him. Stroking his head. 

Whispering that it was alright, she was here, she'd never let him go. Not ever. 

Falling onto her neck, speaking through his sobs. Showing her the photo he'd found. The cause of all his distemper.

Dearest Sam. Who made him tea, and wiped his nose. Held a cool flannel against his aching forehead. Comforted him.  
Took him to bed.  
Held him close.

Sam who gently asked him to tell her. If he could.  
Could he? 

Divulge some of his inner demons, actually share them? 

He did, he lay in the dark, snuggled against her, and told her it all. Tumbling out, a long disparate ramble. 

And she listened. Quietly. Stroking his head gently. 

Without comment, without judgement.  
As he poured out all his thoughts, all the nastiness and hatred he'd endured. The whole sorry tale. 

She'd kissed him, touched and coaxed him. Made him feel so fucking wonderful.  
Fuck, but he was hard now, all that emotion went straight to his cock, needing a pressure release valve, and she knew, straight away she knew.  
"Make love to me Malcolm." 

"What about......?" 

"I'm fine now, it's been almost two weeks.....if there's a problem I'll tell you, okay?" 

"Fuck! I can love you? Properly? Want to so bad Sam.....will you have me?" 

"Malcolm, never doubt it." 

"Fuck! But I doubt it constantly." 

He whimpered with ecstatic pleasure when she allowed him to penetrate her, for the first time in a fortnight. It felt like the first ever time, all over again.  
And it was so fucking good.  
She gasped beneath him, her nails raking his back. 

"Oh God! Malcolm, I've missed being like this so much!" 

"And I've missed YOU so much." 

Somehow she always took his pain away.


	12. Conference.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Party Conference and all that it entails. Malcolm and Sam escape for a quiet meal, but it all goes horribly wrong.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quite a long chapter but I didn't want to split it, so please accept my apologies for inflicting more than 3000 words on you all in one hit!! 
> 
> This is Malcolm being a bit of an idiot......basically.......

CHAPTER TWELVE.  
CONFERENCE.

 _"Oh I do like to be beside the seaside,_  
_I do like to be beside the sea,_  
_I do like to stroll along the prom prom prom...._  
_Where the brass band plays, tiddly om pom pom......"_  
_So just let me be beside the seaside,_  
_I'll be beside myself with glee, and there's lots of girls beside_  
_I should like to be beside_  
_Beside the seaside, beside the sea."_

Malcolm felt happy. Almost deliriously so. 

Actually happy. 

His heart was light. 

Sam now knew all there was to know about his ex wife, his marriage, his divorce.......everything.  
Knew what a cunt he'd been, what an idiot. True she only had his side, but he hadn't held back.  
For every shit thing she'd done, he told her four far worse things of his own. 

Sam took it all in, in that calm serene manner she always seemed to have. Asking very few questions, and when she did it was only to clarify salient points.  
Nodding sagely at his brutally honest replies.

Her judgement on his chequered history, apparently settled in her mind, she'd curled up against him, kissed him thoroughly and told him that if ever he wanted to talk more about it to her, he could. 

That was it. Subject closed until further notice. 

She understood. 

She'd listened, weighed the information, and she was still here, still his PA, still loving him and, apparently not about to jump ship. 

Malcolm found it difficult to comprehend her stance. Surely any sane person would run a mile?  
He only knew that unless he confessed all this to her, he would never be able to leave it behind.  
It was a realisation that stung him to the core. A long time coming. 

Now it had been said. Taking the huge risk of chasing her away, but it was necessary for him to confess in order to move forward.  
Secrets were toxic.  
Malcolm had so many. Some that he'd never told a single soul, and doubted he ever could.  
Admittedly his timing wasn't fucking brilliant.  
A hectic Conference week......but there was no time like the present, when was going to be a good time anyway? Finding that sodding photo had forced the issue. 

They held hands as they walked. Malcolm saw her glance at him sideways from time to time and smile to herself. 

Fuck if he knew why. 

Part of him was desperate to know.....why she was so attached to him, why he was her idea of loves dream.....the rest of him didn't want to analyse it too closely, just in case. 

Fucking Conference week.....  
When MP's, MEP's, local councillors, policy advisors and the party faithful gathered to debate and vote on policies, hear their leaders speak, swap gossip, discuss the latest intrigues and party into the night with like minded souls. Well, that was the idea......

In reality it was a fucking bun fight.

The main event for the media and party members tended to be the big set piece speeches by the party leaders.  
Virtually the entire Westminster journalist corps decamped to Brighton for the week. 

 

The first day was mainly taken up by the high-profile guest speaker, in the main Conference hall.  
This year Bill Clinton was speaking. It was the Party's way to try and inject some added excitement into the proceedings.  
There followed a debate on Party policy. Malcolm had to take copious notes for Tom, and work on a speech for him for a fringe meeting he was attending the following evening. 

An informal session, Tom being one of a panel with three other speakers, debating the topical issue of Welfare and Benefits. Which preceded a Q&A from the audience. 

Malcolm did his best to anticipate what questions might be asked, and provide Tom with suitable responses, which were reasonably concise and toed the Party Line. 

Working on it that first evening. In his hotel room, laptop open and balanced on his thighs, Sam curled on the floor beside his knee. Her own hand held computer on, trawling through his emails.  
Empty coffee cups in abundance.  
As he sighed in frustration and deleted a portion of what he'd written, she looked up at him enquiringly.  
"Problems?"  
"Fucking right! Can't get this bit about the Bedroom Tax to sound right......I know what I wanna say, I just can't seem to say it!"  
Standing up she scooted up to him.

"Shift your bum over! Let's have a squizz...." 

He moved sideways slightly and she squashed her backside in next to him, leaning into his arm and peering at his screen, scanning rapidly.  
She frowned expressively.  
"Okay.....I think you should be emphasising the fact that it's targeting the wrong people. By all means chase the liars and the fraudsters and the cheats, but if you are caring for a sick or disabled relative, it's difficult to share a bed with them, or get any time away from them to even catch some sleep.....in order to keep sane you need a second bedroom, simply to get a few moments respite at night.....why should you be taxed on that? You're saving the State thousands by caring for the person at home by yourself anyway......and any politician who doesn't know what it's like to be a long term home carer, say to someone with dementia.......should fucking well try it!" 

Malcolm looked at her in astonishment. 

"Fuck Sam.....this is why I love you......remind me again.....why are you here, with me...? Why aren't you running the fucking country?"

"Ah! Well.....you're my springboard to greatness Malcolm......a rung on my ladder to super stardom......" 

She stopped as his face clouded. Gave his arm a playful thump.

"Joke, Malcolm.....it's a joke." 

Turning his face towards her she kissed him hard on the mouth.  
"Idiot! I'm with you because I need you. I need your warmth and your innate sense of right, I need your old fashioned ideas of courtship and love, I'm with you because you represent strength. Fortitude. You struggle every day Malcolm, I see it. I've always seen it, and yet you're still here, battling on, refusing to give in. That's what I love." 

Malcolm was shocked into silence.  
What could he possibly say to that? 

No one had ever said anything like that to him in his entire life. 

He was deeply moved. 

oOo

The second day was spent largely in the huge exhibition hall, where business, industries and other groups had stalls, using the opportunity of a largely captive audience to raise their profiles and lobby the party members.  
It was a vast, seething mass of chatter and clamour, of handshakes and back slapping.  
False smiles and Bon Homie. 

The idea was to circulate, and Malcolm was extremely good at it. Working the crowd. Pressing flesh, amiable, animated, engaged.  
Sam found it stultifyingly boring. Didn't know how he did it. Keeping up this mask of pleasantries. 

He knew everyone. Everyone knew him.  
She could see him across from her now, cradling an orange juice, face eager and pushed forwards, like an alert kestrel. Ready to smile if required, or prepared to pounce if not. 

His abilities amazed her, so sharp and quick. 

Christ, but she loved him so much. He had no real idea.  
Reminded her in every way of her own father. Not that she saw him as that, despite the age difference, no, it wasn't that, it was the similarities.  
Her dad had been a troubled soul too. Samantha Cassidy had strong suspicions that Malcolm's inner demons were similar to those her father had carried with him since adolescence.  
Even though he'd never said anything. Somehow she just knew. 

His lightness of mood following his revelations were typical. Feeling pleased with himself for sharing some of his troubles, thinking that now he had, he would be off the hook. There would be no more pressure. She'd satisfy herself she knew it all and let him be.  
Whilst all the time there were things that lay so much deeper, Sam knew it was not his ex wife that gave him nightmares.  
It was something she'd not broached with him, scared to push him too hard. But she recognised the signs.  
Her father had done the same. 

Malcolm would sometimes cry out in his sleep, waking in a cold sweat, flailing occasionally at an invisible assailant. At these times she would cuddle him, and he would gradually quiet, and wake none the wiser for the most part.  
Neither one ever mentioned it. 

She'd found out her dad's secrets by accident. Too late. Far far too late. Breaking through to Malcolm was going to be infinitely more difficult. 

He'd spotted her, and was coming over to rescue her from the Professor Plum who currently had her cornered.  
Thank god.  
The mere touch of his arm against hers made her heart jump. 

oOo 

Day over, they escaped gratefully from the throng. Malcolm ordered a cab to drive them down the coast a little towards Rottingdean, where he found a nice quiet little Bistro restaurant where they could be sure of not meeting any other delegates.  
Not fancy, but good service and good food.  
"Have you enjoyed the day Malcolm?"  
"Pretty good, as it goes." He attacked his starter with gusto, a sideways grin around his mouthful.  
"Who was that boring old cunt you were shackled to?" He added, swallowing his mouthful.  
"Oh Gaaad! Professor Simmington. IT and computer specialist, he knows my brother." 

Malcolm paused, his fork halfway to his mouth.

"Didn't know you had a brother." 

Sam smiled wistfully. 

"He's _all_ I've got!" 

"Really.....how come?" Malcolm asked warily. 

"My parents died." The statement was so factual, so detached, that Malcolm was quite taken aback. Immediately he wanted to shie away. 

"Christ! Sorry I asked." He began, then thought better of it. "I mean....if it's a difficult subject...."

Sam took a hefty glug of wine. 

"Not difficult. Just bloody tragic." She replied, noncommittally. 

"Sorry.....Sam, am I treading on bad ground here? Tell me and I'll shut the fuck up." 

Her eyebrows knitted somewhat crossly, and she glared back at him across the table. 

"Malcolm. It isn't that. It really isn't. I don't have secrets from you, the subject has just never come up.......and it's just the timing could be better, but it's something I deal with on a daily basis. I just do. I think about it sometimes, then I get on with my life as best I can. A bit like you."

His face changed. A little frisson of fear passing over it. Too late now, he had to know. 

"If you'd rather not......it's no big deal......." He was stumbling in the dark once again, and suddenly afraid.  
Could it be that she had demons too? Dark things she kept quiet about? Didn't share with the world.  
He felt rather hot and uncomfortable. 

"Malcolm, I'm painfully aware that we are here at Conference, we're having a nice meal, you are probably the happiest I've seen you.....ever......and I know why......I don't want to piss all over that, do we really want to light a fucking great bonfire, then throw petrol on it?" 

Malcolm pulled a face at her metaphors.

"Hang on!" He mimed searching his pockets. "I'll get some matches!" 

oOo

 

"I don't think this is a topic of conversation for here, Malc. I think we should enjoy the rest of the week and talk about this when we get home. It'll keep. But I'll tell you about my brother......he's a dear."

She was sure she heard an audible sigh of relief from him. Facing such conversations was painfully difficult for him, as much for others as it was for himself.  
If it could be avoided.......all well and good. Anything else he would meet head on, but 'stuff'.........? Dealing with 'stuff' was a whole different kettle of fish. 

"Why haven't I heard about your brother then? Does he know about me?" 

Sam laughed. 

"No, Malcolm, I keep you hidden, as my dark and dirty secret! Yes of course he knows about you!" 

"His name is Paul. And he's three years older than me. He's very clever and he works in Computer Science. He's a bit of a whizz-kid! Hence being known to Professor Simmington." 

"Why haven't I met him?" 

"Because he's been in The States, since you and me.......well, since you and me......you know!" 

Malcolm grinned. 

"But we Skype and phone each other all the time. We are close. He knows me better than anyone I guess. Plus, he's all the family I've got, and vice versa. So we kinda make the effort, always have. He sacrificed a great deal for me."

He was about to ask what this great sacrifice was, when she interrupted suddenly as a thought occurred to her. 

"What about your sister? You don't seem to see so much of her these days, or your niece and nephew. You used to have pictures on your wall in the office.....but I don't see them so much now." 

Malcolm swallowed heavily, and let out a surprised gulp. 

"How would you know that?" 

"I've spoken to her on the phone Malcolm......when you were too busy to talk to her. She used to ask me how you were......but she told me not to tell you.......she was worried about you......everyone who cares about you was." 

"For fucks sake! Is nothing sacred? I didn't know you talked to Nancy......."

"No, well......she asked me to keep quiet, so I did. She knows about us. I told her......and yes! I know it should have come from you......but she was upset, after the DoSAC thing......she thought you sounded ill........she said you'd been like that before, when there was a major trauma in your life.....your divorce presumably........so I told her.....sorry if that was wrong, but I thought it might give her a crumb of comfort." 

"But I've spoken to her since then......and she never mentioned it." 

"Well, perhaps she was hoping you might volunteer the information?" 

"None of her fucking business!"

"Malcolm, don't be like that! She cares about you. You're her brother. You grew up together.....she knows you best of anyone, surely?" 

He laughed sarcastically. 

"Pah! Not really. She knows what I deign to tell. Nothing more. And when I go home, which isn't often these days, we don't talk about politics, or my job, or the past........we just talk about ordinary stuff. If she tries going down the 'do you remember when....?' route, I cut her off." 

"Why do you do that?" 

"Because!" 

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

"Because?" 

"Because it's the past. And it's best left alone. Stop fishing Sam, fucking leave it be yeah? I know what you're trying to do!" 

Sam raised her eyebrows quizzically, her expression clouding with an injured look. 

"You're trying to fucking steer the conversation.....and you almost succeeded......telling me about your brother, except you've told me no more than his name and what he does.....you drop vague hints about a great sacrifice, then you start talking about Nancy! You're clever Sam, but you're not that fucking clever." 

"So it's all about you is it?" She retorted. "Just an ordinary chat about everyday things over a nice meal, like your family, my family, and suddenly I'm the Grand Inquisitor? I'm trying to trap you in some way......wheedle confessions out of you? Just how far up your own arse is your head, Malcolm?  
I'm not HER!  
Get that into your thick skull. I'm not that manipulative bitch, I'm not nasty or vindictive, I don't have ulterior motives, especially not with you, because I know........." She paused. " Because you remind me of.........oh, never mind! It doesn't matter. I can never expect you to understand." 

Malcolm's face had changed to thunder. 

He was cross, both with himself, for letting down his guard, and with her, because he now knew he'd read her incorrectly, said the wrong thing and hurt her feelings....but that was somehow her own fault too. 

"We should go!" He snapped. Then barked to the waiter for the bill. 

The cab ride back to the hotel was accomplished in silence. 

At the reception desk, she asked for her own key, as he asked for his.  
She turned to him, as they made their way to the lifts. 

A irrepressible sadness in her eyes. 

"Malcolm. Not everyone is the enemy. Not everyone is out to damage you.  
Fuck knows you're damaged enough.  
But please don't lump me in with that woman you married.  
Hurt me anyway you like, but not by comparing me to Her. She was poison.  
I googled her, read some of the stuff that came out at the time.  
I know what she did to you. I get it.  
I can't speak for your sister, but I can speak for myself, I love you Malcolm Tucker, I don't care about anything else.  
Your past is your affair......and good luck with that.....cos you're dealing with it really well.........I'm not prying.......and I'll tell you all about my parents willingly......but there's going to be stuff there you DO NOT want to hear.......and that's why I steered away from it tonight......to spare you.......because when you know, it'll change you........and it'll upset you......and the time just isn't right.  
Not everything is about you, Malcolm, I have things of my own to deal with, and I was hoping we might be able to help each other.......but if that's not for you, then fine.  
I'm going to bed, it's been a very long day, and there's all the speeches tomorrow and the gala dinner in the evening.  
I'll see you in the morning maybe, for breakfast?" 

She touched his arm, very gently. She was perfectly calm, but there was a tremor in her voice.  
There was a look of betrayal on Malcolm's face however. 

"So that's it then is it?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"You're just gonna walk away? Go to your room and sulk?" 

"No, Malcolm. I'm going to put some distance between us, before you get more angry and start shouting, and before more hurtful things are said. I'm going to let you cool down and mull over what I've said. I'm going to give you a time out." She spoke very quietly. 

"So a shag is out of the question then?" 

"Don't be flippant about this Malc. I'm deadly serious. You've twisted my kindness and made it into something horrible. It doesn't sit well. I need time out too. I need to think, and most of all I need to be by myself. Goodnight, I'll see you in the morning." 

Without another word she swept into the lift and the doors closed on her.  
By the time she reached her door, she was so blinded with tears that she couldn't find the keyhole. 

Malcolm let himself into his own room. Had a slug of scotch to stop him smashing something in his anger. Picked up the phone. Dialled. 

"Hi, Nance? It's me. Fuck......I know it's late......but I need to talk to someone......bad......."


	13. Gala Dinner.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm hasn't slept at all and is in the hotel foyer before six, waiting for Sam to appear.   
> He knows he's been an idiot and is desperate to make amends.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another long one. 
> 
> Sorry to bombard you with another 3000+ worder straight after the last one, but it's surprising how difficult it is sometimes to get to the point at which you divulge the information you set out to put across. 
> 
> I was determined not to stint it, or cut it short. So here it is! 
> 
> Please be aware of the strong topics covered in this chapter. I'm exploring some of what Sam has been through in her past and why she is drawn to Malcolm in the first place. 
> 
> The words are all true. Not from my own POV but from someone else's. This is deep stuff, but it's out there, and it happens. 
> 
> Hopefully it reads okay and is not a victim of its own wordiness!!!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.  
GALA DINNER. 

If Sam thought that Malcolm would knock on her door during the night, she was disappointed. The fact that she most definitely didn't expect him to do that was beside the point. She also had no intention of going to him. 

She needed to cry. 

For herself. For her father. But not for him. 

He was the last person she wanted to see at that moment in time. 

Had he turned up he would not have gained admittance. 

As for Malcolm, he spoke with his sister for more than an hour. Probably the deepest conversation he'd had with her for over ten years. She told him in no uncertain terms that he was being a cunt.....well, she didn't actually say that word, but he got the drift. 

He barely slept, and was up before six. 

Pacing the hotel foyer. 

Breakfast buffet opened at six, but food was the last thing he wanted. He felt sick.   
One look at the brown sludge that went by the name of coffee, sent him walking off briskly down the street in search of a Barista place that opened early.   
Mercifully he discovered a Starbucks. 

Seated opposite the lifts, he waited. 

He couldn't possibly miss her, she had to come this way, and he absolutely must speak to her before anything else. Because if he didn't he would spontaneously combust.

He waited. 

Eyeing the doors each time they slid open. Drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair. Jumping every time he heard the elevator ping, then sinking back when it wasn't her.   
At seven, the doors parted once more.   
Here she was.

Malcolm was out of the seat and crossing the floor in seconds.   
"Sam!" 

Her face slayed him. Broke him into bits.

Face red and eyes puffy. Her hair scraped back into a messy ponytail. He didn't think he'd ever seen her looking more desolate, not in all the years she'd worked for him.  
Fuck, and it was because of him. 

Walking up to her, she stopped abruptly in front of him, raised her eyes slowly to meet his.   
"Sam." He whispered.

Her whole demeanour seemed altered. A hunch in her shoulders, head down. Eyes downcast.   
It was as if she could hardly bear to look at him. 

"Fuck....Sam......I haven't cocked things up completely have I? I'm such a cunt. And I'm so sorry. Sam! Please believe me. I was fucking wrong, okay? Say something for fucks sake! Tell me I'm a cunt! But don't tell me to fuck off.......please." 

"You're a cunt." She muttered quietly under her breath. 

"What can I do? Fucking tell me Sam......I'll do anything, to make it right. Please tell me what to do....."

"You can take me out for coffee....the stuff they serve here is sewage." 

"Right! Okay! I can do that." He held out his hand to her, she looked first at his hopeful face, then at the hand, as if considering, then placed her palm into his, her small fingers curling around his larger ones.

Sitting opposite each other, she with a large skinny latte in front of her, he with an americano. He clasped her hands in his own across the table top.   
"I'm sorry Sam. Truly I am. It isn't all about me, I know that now. You didn't mean anything by it. I spoke to Nancy. Told her what you said."

"And what did she say?" 

"She said I was an idiot. How did I get you so wrong? That's what she said. Who would think the way I did ? No one except a twat like me. Told me to apologise grovelling on my knees if I had to, she said if I didn't she'd come down here and whack me one." 

"Sensible woman your sister. I like her a great deal." 

"She apparently thinks you are the best thing since sliced bread. Wants to know what the fuck you're doing with a complete tosser like me. Actually I wouldn't mind the answer to that myself......"

"Not now Malcolm. And not here." She replied quietly. 

"She was really angry with me. Gave me a right bollocking. She said if I muck up with you, it'll be the last chance I ever get........fuck.....Sam......." He took in a deep breath. "I haven't have I? Can you forgive me? I'm sorry I find feelings so hard......it's just talking about stuff......I just can't. I've kept it all inside so long, I guess." 

"I know, Malcolm. I know what that's like and I know what you're going through. I recognised the signs straight away. My father was the same. That's how I know." Her voice was low, almost inaudible. "It's what drew me to you. It's the reason I fell for you in the first place." 

Malcolm was silent. 

Mulling over her words. 

"What......? I don't understand....."

"I don't want to discuss it now. Not here. Please Malcolm, I'm tired and depressed and emotional. We have the first major speech in just over an hour, I can't do this right now. And you need to understand that, it's not personal, I just need to concentrate on other things and I can't do that with this conversation hanging over me like a pall of funereal black......let to go for now.....please." 

Sitting back in the chair with a huff, he glanced at his watch. 

"Fuck! We need to get going, Tom wants a run through before the big event." 

oOo

The speech was something of a triumph and both Malcolm and Tom were pleased, both men were surrounded by the press pack afterwards. Sam melted into the background, she felt physically and mentally exhausted, and there was still the gala dinner to come that evening.  
Retreating to her room, she collapsed onto her bed.   
It was a while later when there came a soft tap on her door.   
"You disappeared. Was worried." Malcolm lent on the doorframe. "You okay?"  
"I came up for a nap, that's all." 

"I met John from the paper, we used to work together, he asked me for a drink. You wanna come?"  
She shook her head.  
"No, you go. I'll meet you in the bar at seven thirty, for a pre-dinner drink.....yeah?"  
"Well, if you're sure. I'll come up and get ready later.....get the old tux on.....see you down there then?"   
"Yeah!" She yawned, and rubbed her eyes.   
"Sam, we are okay aren't we? Only I fucking love you so much.....you know that right?"  
"We are fine, Malcolm. I love you too. But I'm weary, and I need to sleep. I'll see you later."   
He leaned in, and kissed her with all the tenderness he could muster. Breaking only because of the necessity to breathe.   
"Later then." He whispered, and was gone. 

oOo 

Malcolm was perched on a bar stool with his usual orange juice. His ex colleague was already well oiled and it was barely seven thirty.   
He waited impatiently for Sam. 

All day he'd felt a sense of panic. That she was distant with him, and hadn't forgiven him for his transgression.   
He needed to make it up to her, he knew that, and he'd been trying to remember what he used to do with his ex.   
She would punish him, one way or another, and fuck his pathetic miserable hide, he felt it was justified.   
Turning to scan the floor he saw someone coming towards him. 

Fuck but it was Sam.   
He hardly recognised her. 

A vision. 

Flowing black gown with a chiffon skirt, all floaty. Beaded at the neck.   
Her hair pinned up, with curls loose framing her heart shaped face. 

Fucking fuck me! 

He went to her, kissed her cheek. 

"Look at you!" He breathed. "You're a fucking goddess Sam." 

She coloured slightly, and he lead her by the hand to the bar and bought her a glass of champagne. 

"You feeling okay?" He enquired. 

"Better. The sleep did me good. Malcolm, let's forget about last night shall we? Chalk it up and move on. I know you love me, and I sure as hell love you.....lets have a lovely evening and be grown ups and enjoy ourselves?" 

Malcolm raised her hand to his lips and kissed it fervently. 

"If you can do that Sam, you'll make me the happiest man on this earth." 

Just then the dinner was announced, and they took their places in the dining room. 

oOo

Sam's head was almost level with his in her high heels.   
They danced, Malcolm held her very close. 

His heart was bursting with love and passion for this beautiful woman, and he was so honoured to be on the floor with her.   
Others had asked her to dance, she'd gracefully accepted, one guy was too handsie and Malcolm cut in after a few minutes.   
"Keep your fucking hands to yourself pal!" He muttered, as he steered Sam away.   
"So possessive!" Sam giggled, then added. "Thank god you did that, one more squeeze of my arse and I was going to slap him."   
"Good job you didn't, he's the Minister for Justice!"   
"I don't give a shit! He's a leech of the highest order." She retorted. 

Later, after they'd gone to bed, Malcolm was still trying his very hardest to make up for his behaviour the night before.   
Chiefly to give her an orgasm she'd remember, and quite possibly more than one.  
Her hand closed around him, he was hard as iron, already leaking, and she began to stroke him, as he touched and caressed her.   
"Don't Sam......let me do this for you......."  
"What? I'm not allowed to touch you?"   
"Don't deserve it. I don't mind, it's all about you, and me saying how sorry I am." 

Sam stopped, and pushed him away from her.   
"Just a moment......who says you don't deserve it? What is this? Making yourself go without?"  
"It's okay Sam, it's fine, it's good. I'm used to it. I'm not complaining." 

"NO!" She admonished, sitting up. "That's not what we do! You don't fucking punish yourself.   
Malcolm, I don't care what you did with your ex, or rather what she did to you. Denial is one thing, but it's meant to be agreed upon before hand....not something that's inflicted upon you, or you're made to feel inadequate and forced into it!   
Right, turn over.....this isn't about me anymore, this is about you.....and you are going to come....and it's going to be bloody awesome!" 

She began to stroke and play with him, warming him up, using her tongue against him, and he groaned with the sheer pleasure of it.   
"Fuck....Sam......"   
Still she felt that he was holding back, desperately trying not to release.   
"Please...." He whispered plaintively. "Say it Sam, say I can.....please.....I'll beg....."   
"No. Malcolm, you come when you're ready......."   
As if those were the words he was waiting for, he let go.   
Pumping into her hand, gasping, swearing under his breath.   
"Oh fuck!" He whispered as he calmed gradually.   
Sam kissed him, laying her head against him.   
"Malcolm, you have to unlearn this......you do NOT have to come at my command.....it's not fair.....and it's not what I want from you. Okay?" 

"Fuck! Yeah. If you say so. I'll try." 

"Christ! If ever I see that bloody Woman. I swear to god! I'll floor her. She's fucked you up so badly! It's horrible. Evil witch! Sex between two people is mutual. It's not about control unless that's what you're into......and agree to, and like.......and you're not! You don't! And neither do I!" 

"I think there's a little more to it than that." He admitted softly. 

oOo

"Tell me about your parents." 

They were lying quietly now, embracing each other, both post orgasmic, both sated.   
"Oh Malcolm! Really? You're like a dog worrying at a sore."

"Please. I want to know." 

"Okay. I guess there's never gonna be a good time."   
She sat up, pushed back her hair, it was two o clock in the morning. Malcolm used the tiny kettle to make them both tea.   
Sitting propped up side by side, leaning against the headboard.   
Sam heaved a great sigh, and began, almost as if she were reciting from an autocue. Maintaining her distance from the words. 

"They went abroad on holiday.....first time without me. I was sixteen. Studying for my O levels. They were involved in a car accident, in their hire car, on a mountain road. Mum was killed outright."

"Holy fuck!" 

"Dad was driving, the wheel saved him, he was injured. But well enough to come home. They flew my mums body home. We had the funeral. I was awful. I don't know how we got through it. Dad was a changed man. Blamed himself. Couldn't cope at all. Said it should have been him. He struggled terribly, with depression. It got worse and worse.   
I didn't know what to do.....I was sixteen.....on the cusp of growing up, somehow I got through my exams, started sixth form. Paul was away at uni, so it was just me and dad. For a whole year." 

"Christ. Sam. You dealt with all that?" 

She laughed bitterly. 

"Oh, Malcolm. You have no idea. I missed my mum so much, I was sixteen....a girl needs her mum! Dad was struggling with more than depression, mum was his rock, she anchored him......and she was gone. He couldn't cope. He'd stay in bed all day, not eat, shuffle around in his dressing gown, not even take a shower.   
I did all the cooking, housework, everything. I should have been out, with my mates.....falling in love, doing stupid things, instead I would come home and find him sitting in the dark, having not moved for hours.   
I was desperate, I couldn't talk to him, I was a still a kid really, he was my dad......so I rung my brother, cried down the phone.   
Paul came home for the holidays. I was staying at a friend's place, I did that sometimes, because I needed to get away from the toxic atmosphere.   
Paul came home from the pub and found him on the sofa.......he'd killed himself.   
I know it's selfish, but thank god it wasn't me, thank god I wasn't there." 

Sam was weeping, softly. Malcolm stroked her hair, tried to comfort her. 

"Don't say any more....not if you don't want to." 

"No.....you should know......because it's partly the reason I fell in love with you Malcolm."   
She touched his cheek gently.   
Malcolm frowned and looked confused. 

"After he'd gone, I was still a minor.....seventeen. Paul was my appointed guardian as per my dads will. He was twenty. He deferred a year from University, came home, and became like my surrogate dad. I took my A Levels, I got into Oxbridge on a scholarship. Don't ask me how, I think I just channelled everything I had into my schoolwork. So I went Up in the Michaelmas term and Paul went back to his studies. We shut ourselves off, we got on with it. 

"Jesus! Sam.....I had no idea......" 

"How would you have? Not many people know about it. It's not something I bang on about. Anyway.......that's not the crux.......that came when me and Paul sorted through dads things, some months later. Prior to selling the house. Since neither of us ever wanted to return there and we were both of age. We decided we'd sell and split the money. Give us a nest egg each for our futures. Well, in the attic, we were searching through a load of crap. We found a set of journals......" 

She paused for a long moment, unable to continue. Malcolm drew her closer.   
Swallowing down the emotion she continued bravely.

"It was a whole series of diary entries, spanning the years since he'd been with mum, it was her idea that he wrote them, as a catharsis for himself. Since he refused to seek professional help.   
No one but her knew what he'd been through......  
From the age of seven, till he was about thirteen........he'd been systematically abused by an uncle of his. The diary went into graphic detail, which you don't need to hear. But it completely coloured his entire existence. He couldn't leave it behind, couldn't get passed it.   
Mum knew, he'd told her, but once she was gone he was rudderless, and he just couldn't cope. It blighted him Malcolm. And we never knew how much. All those years.   
The diary made sorry reading.   
The manipulation, the hatred of himself. He blamed himself, because he kept going back, even though he knew what would happen. He felt dirty. It was his fault.   
But he was a CHILD , Malcolm.......a child........an innocent." 

Tears were streaming down Malcolm's face, silently. He was unable to speak. 

"I told you! Didn't I? I told you that when you knew it would upset you, change you even. My mother was drawn to my dad......he must have confided in her early on, she helped him, he was human again when he was with her.   
She loved him, understood him, she was his whole life.....and when we were born, it helped him too.....made him feel that he was adequate at least.   
But he punished himself constantly, it was all there, in black and white, and he never got over it. And in the end, it killed him. "

She turned to Malcolm and held both his hands in hers. 

"Malcolm. I don't want you to say anything. Nothing at all. But hear me now." Her tears coursed unchecked down her face.   
"So help me, from the first day I came to work for you, I saw my father in you.....and no.......!"

She held her hand up to stop him speaking. 

"I don't mean I look at you as a father figure.....I SO don't! But I saw the same traits. The self punishment, the moods, the swearing, the lack of self worth, the way you were always on the defensive, covering your feelings with bluster and f words. The way you tried to cover your emotions under a blanket of other stuff.   
I could see you were deep, loving, gentle.....but no one in the office would ever describe you as that. To them you are rude and aggressive.   
You showed traits of the depressive, someone mentioned to me about your divorce.....but I knew it wasn't just that. It had to be more. So I had my suspicions."

She drew him to her, stroking her hand in his hair, kissing the top of his head tenderly. 

"I became more and more certain, once I'd spent a night with you.   
You have nightmares Malcolm, you cry in your sleep, flail against an assailant that only you can see........and I was sure. My father wrote the very same things.  
I knew that somewhere.......deep inside you.....there was this monster......curled up, kept down. It drew me closer and closer to you. Not because I could help necessarily......please don't think that.....don't think you were my pet project........but simply because I knew. 

And I was sure no one else did. 

I understood. And I fell in love with the man who needed someone so badly.   
There.   
Now you know. I don't want you to tell me anything, ever, unless you really want to. I just want you to know that I understand, I know what you are going through, and I'm here, okay? Always.

Oh Malc! I can't talk anymore. My head hurts. It's all so draining, thinking about this stuff." 

She finished lamely, wiping her face, blowing her nose noisily. 

Malcolm was silent. His tears abated.

He didn't offer further comment, but curled himself into her arms, his head tucked under her chin. 

"Night!" He murmured. "Glad you told me. But I need to sleep now." 

"That's fine! It's okay! Malcolm, just know.....nothing is expected of you.   
You wanted to know, I've told you.   
That's it.   
Done.   
Now let's go to sleep."


	14. Miss Cassidy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is at home, by herself. 
> 
> She falls into thinking about the past......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is essentially Sam's back story. It's what brings her to the point she's at now. 
> 
> It isn't supposed to be structured, it's supposed to be jumbled as her thought processes work. 
> 
> I wrote this chapter very quickly. Letting it just happen. I've done virtually no redrafting. It is raw. That's the point. 
> 
> It covers deep stuff so please be aware. 
> 
> I'm not writing it lightly. But I want it out there!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.  
MISS CASSIDY. 

So strange. Unspoken thoughts. Long silences. 

They were both home now. The conference behind them. Successful.  
Everyone pleased. 

Malcolm had made an excuse when the train pulled into Victoria. It was the lamest excuse she'd ever heard.  
He was tired, it'd been a long week.  
Drained emotionally, after the events of the gala dinner and what preceded it. 

He'd go home, rest up, see her tomorrow.  
Call her. 

Sam sighed. She knew this would happen. It was the reason she'd held back from telling him. Effectively shut out. 

She also knew it was no use pushing. Let him sort it all out in his mind.  
She knew he loved her, he wouldn't just break it off.  
He needed time. He would have that time. 

So she'd kissed him. Told him she loved him, although unable to convey just how much.  
Watched him walk away briskly along the platform.  
He didn't look back.  
She'd taken her wheelie suitcase and gone back to her own flat. 

Alone. 

Slept not a wink. 

Saturday morning.

Up at five. 

In a camisole and shorts. Hair resembling a beehive on steroids. But she didn't give a shit. 

Her father's legacy, visiting itself once again on the daughter. 

As it had for well over fifteen years. Carried inside, and once shared, no going back, too much information. 

Shuffling to her kitchen, she put the coffee machine on, and the radio. Made toast she didn't really want.  
Checked her phone, no messages from Malcolm. 

Oh sod it!  
Right now Sam needed him more than she could possibly say. Desperate for his cuddle, his voice, his warmth.  
Why?

Because she'd told him all about her parents, her father's death, everything, and in the process dredged up every painful memory that she fought so hard on a daily basis to push aside. 

Sitting down at her kitchen table she began to think.  
Not always a good thing. 

Thinking.....it got you into no end of trouble. 

Here it all came..........she was suddenly sixteen again.

Listless, lifeless eyes. Her father's glazed and clouded look. Lights on but no one home.  
Unshaven, hair uncombed. A pallor about the skin which spoke of lack of sunlight. Lack of anything.  
Didn't even know what day it was. Never went food shopping. 

The milk was off......again. 

Stunk to high heaven. 

Off to school hungry.  
Couldn't wait to leave that bloody house. The home that wasn't home anymore. It was like a morgue. The abode of the dead.  
Knowing that when she came back at four o clock it would be exactly the same.  
Curtains drawn, dirty dishes in the sink. Beds unmade. 

No light, no love, no nothing. 

Luckier than some, she had friends at least. Two in particular. Their mums took her under their wing, gave her succour when she was so desperate for it. 

No mum.

She wanted to talk about boys. About whether it was normal to feel sick when your period came.  
How to deal with spots and underarm hair. Wanted to ask why Tamara Davis hated her, and called her names, punched her in the corridor. Until her friends rallied round her.....told the bitch to pick on someone her own size. She wanted to talk about the times when she saw Val Kilmer in a movie or on television and she had such weird feelings deep in her chest, and her stomach.......and elsewhere, that she wasn't sure whether to scream, or cry, or touch herself! 

Someone put a note in her bag at school. Saying she was beautiful. What should she do? Go out with him maybe.....just seein'? Or tell him to bugger off? Could she go home and discuss it with her dad?  
No. 

Every ounce of her being, thrown into studying. She did little else.  
Sometimes there was a disco, or a youth club thing.....but Sam was the outsider, her dad wasn't going to be turning out at midnight in the car to pick them up......another parent did that.  
He never drove again. So she was reduced to cadging lifts. 

It wasn't fair. 

So she stopped asking. Because she felt guilty. If she didn't go, there wasn't a problem. 

Her bedroom was her sanctuary. 

Night after night, the posters on her wall, each one smiling down......a friend.  
Johnny Depp, Daniel Day-Lewis in Last of the Mohicans, God! She wished someone would kiss her like he kissed Madeleine Stowe in that movie, it made her knees go weak to watch that scene.......Bowie....always so cool.......and Take That......yeah.....them.......Christ! The shame!!  
Her cassette player. Hundreds of tapes, she played them loud, door shut.  
In a world of her own. 

Her dad would be downstairs. With his drink, and his pills, and the TV playing, but not really watching it. 

If she wanted something to eat, she made it herself. Invariably made him something too.....not that he ate much. 

She thought about her mum constantly in that year.  
Longed for her. Cried copious tears. Missed her brother. Her one ally. 

When her results came through and she passed with such high grades, there was no one to share her triumph with......not really.......she went to the sixth form interview on her own. 

That first year, something snapped in her. She decided she wasn't going to be a victim. She wasn't going to be depressed, and she wasn't going to be liked because people felt fucking sorry for her.  
"Oh, don't be nasty to poor Sam.....she's had a rough time......"

She knuckled down, she worked her arse off. She poured all of her anger and pain, loneliness and bitterness into her school work. 

Her best friend took her away with her on their family holiday that first year.  
Thank god! She felt free. The dismal sight of her pathetic excuse for a father was out of sight and out of mind.  
She partied, got so drunk. She met a boy and she so wanted to go all the way with him......but something stopped her. 

Returning her dad hardly noticed she'd been gone. Back to her room, door slammed shut.  
World held at bay. 

Housework and chores, cooking and cleaning.  
Disability benefits. Long term sick leave. Without that money each week they couldn't have survived, as her dad earned nothing.  
Visiting the grave, laying flowers, railing and crying at the fucking injustice of it all.  
Her dad was right.....useless pathetic waster.....why hadn't it been him instead? At least then things would have carried on......her mum was strength.  
Fortitude.  
Love. 

Eventually something had to give. It took her days to pluck up courage to ring Paul.  
Lucky him, he'd been away.....not there to witness the decline of the man who had once been beloved. 

She unashamedly played the guilt card. He came home. 

Almost as soon as he did, Sam went to stay at her friend's house. It was the first time she'd been anywhere since the holiday.......a mate was there.......Robert. She spent the evening snogging him on the sofa.......he put his hand up her jumper, she let him.........he touched her......and she felt so alive. He came in his pants. Seventeen..........and she forgot all about her dead mum, her dad, her shit life......and she embraced the feel of his fingers against her cunt.......

All the time she was there, living, her dad was lying at home. On the settee. Dead. 

Paul found him. 

Her first thought had been......thank god it wasn't me! 

How utterly selfish. She was distraught. If only she'd been at home.....he might not have done it. 

But Paul was adamant. It was NOT her fault. Their dad had died a year ago. 

So he stayed. How could he bugger off and leave her? He gave up Uni. His wonderful life. He put his future on hold for his sister. 

The University were understanding, he could take a year.....go back......but what must it have been like? Out of the loop. Away from his friends, his life, everything.  
To be companion to a gawky teenage sister that he didn't really know.  
A bubbling, seething mass of hormones.  
With whom he had little in common. A girl, who was becoming a woman in front of his eyes, who he didn't understand and who didn't understand herself. 

When she got into Oxbridge he was so relieved. So was she. The guilt she felt at forcing him to put his life on hold for her, was assuaged. 

She worked so hard. Threw herself into it. Flatly refused to be a victim. Or victimised. 

Her life was what it was....and she was going to damn well make the best of it. 

A brilliant student in her year. She achieved a First. 

Finding the journals had threatened to floor her. The tremendous guilt she felt for vilifying her dad for his weakness, in the face of losing his wife.  
In truth she lost her father that day too. One year before she physically lost him.  
He was dead in all but name. Heart still beating, but to no purpose.

Now she knew why. 

A boy, so damaged, that the loss of his anchor meant he was unable to function. Never received or looked for any help. Not professional anyway.  
Nowadays, that help was more readily available, things of this nature were out there.....people talked about them, recognised the trauma they caused. Offered counselling, an ear to hear.  
Therapies to aid the healing process. 

Sam drained her coffee cup. Refilled it.  
Thought about the day she and Paul sat in the gloom of the attic, each reading the pages of a different journal.  
Reams and reams of scribble, as his thoughts and fears and feelings were jotted down. 

All his pain. 

She was crying now. Sobbing. Slumped over her kitchen table. 

How long had she been weeping? She didn't even know. Wasn't aware it had started. 

More than fifteen years, and it was no less raw. 

Her hand shook as she picked up her phone. It was half six. He'd be awake by now.

He answered after two rings. As if the phone were right beside his hand. 

She hadn't worked out what she was going to say. Hadn't given it thought. 

The sound of his voice sparked an outpouring. 

"Malcolm?" That was all she managed. Before a grizzling sob left her. Anguish which she had no way of holding in.  
Sobbing down the phone, just as her seventeen year old self had done, all those years ago, when she was desperate for a distant brother to return to her. 

"Sam? Sam?" His tone was urgent, concerned, and it sounded so, so good. 

"Malcolm!" She blurted, her breath seemed to have almost gone, so constricted was her chest.  
"Please......." 

"I'll be there in twenty minutes." 

That was it.

She hung up with a trembling hand, the handset dropping onto the table. Tried to stand, and found she couldn't, so remained where she was. Waiting for the sound of his key in the lock. 

Only very recently they'd swapped keys. 

A big step.  
Even though he had his own drawer in her bedroom, his shaving stuff on the shelf above the sink. A suit and tie in the wardrobe.  
At his place it was the same, tampons and Immac in his bathroom cabinet. Lacy knickers in his laundry basket. Pink prosecco in his fridge. 

Here he was. 

"Sam? Where are you?" 

"Kitchen!" 

He reached her in a flurry.  
An overcoat thrown on over T shirt and joggers. No socks. The first things that came to hand.  
Hair artfully mussed. 

She turned her tear stained face towards him as he came in. 

Down on his knees at her feet. Arms surrounding her. 

She bent herself, hung on his neck, sobs renewed. 

Blubbing unashamedly now, mouth twisted, bubbles coming out of her nose. 

Not her best look. 

Clutching him to her, burying her face into the warmth of him. Sucking in the scent that was essentially Malcolm, that she loved so much.  
Two fistfuls of his T.  
Pulling back, touching her hands to his dear face, stroking his fuzz of grey hair.  
Feeling his lips seeking out and latching onto her own. 

Tender, warm kisses. Words whispered between each one.

"Sam! My Sam! It's okay......I'm here.......I'm here......."

"Malcolm, I'm sorry........so sorry......but I needed you.......God! I feel as if I'm dying.......please hold me......just hold me........"

And he did.

Like there was no tomorrow. Soothing her gently. 

Afterwards he made her tea. Washed and dried her swollen face. 

Took her back to her bed, where he lay with her trembling against him like a leaf in a storm. Unable to let him go.  
Until she finally slept. 

A restless, fitful sleep. 

It was after ten when she woke again. She was in bed alone, a hot water bottle beside her.  
Movement could be heard coming from somewhere in the flat. 

Pots and pans. Smell of bacon. The sound of the percolator. 

She sat up, rubbed her sore eyes. Yawned. 

His head appeared in the doorway. 

"Okay?" He asked. 

She nodded.

"I'm sorry Malcolm." She said softly. 

He crossed the room, sat on the edge of the bed, took her hand in his own. 

"What the fuck for?" 

"Calling you like that......" She threatened to burst again, but he hushed her. 

"You needed me......not something that's happened to me very often.....I'm usually the one who's doing the needing.......I should have fucking been with you anyway. Instead of flouncing off like a fucking great Jessie, especially after all you'd told me." 

"Thought I'd be alright" She moaned.

"The point is, you shouldn't have to be. How fucking selfish am I? And what sort of a lover? A friend? Who hears something that affronts their sensibility and leaves someone to cope alone while they fuck off and have a hissy fit?" 

"I knew you'd want to be alone. I was expecting it....."

"But YOU shouldn't have been alone. All those dreadful memories.......trawled up from the deep....by me......tossed into the air.......and then left to fall.......I should have fucking stayed with you.....should have anticipated what it would do to you, and it's my fucking fault for making you tell me in the first place. Fuck Sam! I don't deserve you.....you're too fucking good for me. Why you want me fuck alone knows." 

She sat herself up and moved closer to him, putting her arms around his neck and holding him tight. 

"Because I need you Malcolm. You are strength. When I have none."

"Strength? Me? Fuck no! I'm as weak as piss water." 

"No. Malcolm. You are not. You are so strong. Every single day you get through, every battle you fight and win, every time you stick the proverbial two fingers up to the world and say 'fuck you'. Each time you lose, and you scrape yourself up off the floor and carry on. That's Strength. Real strength. And I love you for it." 

"You need me? Really? Like that?" 

"Yes. Always." 

"Fuck! No one has ever really needed me like that before, not ever. This is a new thing. I thought it was me who needed you. You are the strong one......stronger than even I realised, in light of what you told me the other night. You're fucking amazing, Sam. Fuck, but I love you so much." 

They kissed then. A soft, needy kiss, melting into each other, then breaking, their foreheads touching. 

"You hungry? I've made brunch." He whispered. 

"Starving! Crying makes me ravenous!" 

"Come on then......stick your dressing gown on......lets go eat! Then I'm gonna ravish you to within an inch of your life!" 

Sam giggled, in spite of herself. 

"Can't wait!"


	15. Visitor.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam comes to Malcolm's house from the supermarket, and finds an unexpected visitor waiting......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came completely out of nowhere. But I'm glad it did because it's an opportunity for us to snatch a glimpse of the past.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.  
VISITOR. 

 

*Texts between Sam and Malcolm.*

_"In the supermarket.....milk? eggs? something for dinner.....anything else? S. Xxx"_

_"Get bread as well will you, mines gone mouldy! M. Xxx"_

_"Ok. Be at yours in an hour! ILY Sweetie!! Sam! Xxx"_

_"Mad cow! Malc. Xxxx_

oOo

Sam let herself into Malcolm's place, stepping into the hallway, dumping down the heavy carrier bags.

"Shit! The shop was packed Malc....and they'd run out of Hovis so I had to get their own brand." She spoke loudly into the empty air as she made her way down to the kitchen.

"I got you that Jordan's Country Crisp stuff you like.....and some........"

She stopped short. 

Malcolm was not alone. 

Seated at the kitchen counter was a female of the species. 

Sam opened her mouth, then closed it again.

The woman was in her forties, attractive, not dissimilar around the mouth to Malcolm himself, she lacked the masculine brow obviously, and the nose was less prominent.....but the eyes!  
Piercing, the colour of sea foam, like looking into those of her lover.

Sam stammered, " I......um......"

"Sam.....this is Nance. My sister." 

oOo

The two ladies stared at each other for a few seconds, before the said 'Nance' swivelled herself from the stool and came forward with her arms outstretched.  
Sam was enveloped in a warm, perfume scented hug.

"Glad to finally meet you!" She smiled. 

Sam shot a glance at Malcolm, whose face was unreadable. 

"Me too! Wow!" She replied breathlessly. "Malc didn't say........."

"Malc didn't fucking know!" Malcolm butted in fiercely. 

"I thought I'd surprise him." She answered, and looked long and hard at her brother. 

"Well, it's a lovely surprise!" Sam said, with great honesty.

"We've spoken so many times, it's so nice to actually meet!" 

Malcolm huffed, and folded his arms over his chest. 

"I wanted to meet you too. I wanted to know where you keep your white stick......."

Sam took a hesitant breath in, then frowned with confusion.

"She means you must be fucking blind. To go out with me.....ha fucking ha Nancy! You're so amusing." Malcolm gave a rather unattractive scowl. 

Nancy McDonald née Tucker laughed heartily. 

"You and me have so much to talk about!" She added, as Malcolm rolled his eyes theatrically. 

"Listen....if you're going to fucking discuss me.....and I know you are, so don't give me that innocent look......I'll fuck off down to the coffee shop.....or you two can......some of us have a suitcase full of laundry to do.....and ironing......and, and......stuff.......!" He ended lamely.

Sam went to him, threaded her arms around his middle and kissed him affectionately.  
Nancy watched with a smile of deep satisfaction, but Malcolm's expression could only be described as 'injured'! 

"Why would we be discussing you?" She enquired, teasingly. 

Malcolm wriggled free of her embrace. 

"Don't go all fucking kitty-posy on me!" He said grumpily. "I get it.....women's talk! I've already had the third degree from her......." He nodded his head towards his sister. ".......before you got here! That's quite enough for one day. Being on the receiving end of her tongue is like being back home with my fucking mother!" 

"Coffee shop it is then!" Sam chuckled, tickling his ribs. "We'll leave you to wash your pants!" 

"You do that! Fuck off the pair of you! Bloody women!" He replied crossly, flouncing away across the kitchen and gathering up the pile of washing from the floor. 

Sam turned to Nancy. 

"I'll fetch my bag." She grinned. 

oOo

Seated opposite each other in a quiet corner booth.  
Two bucket sized cappuccinos and a chunk each of virtually calorie free New York Cheesecake. 

Nancy waited patiently for the questions from Sam that never came. 

Eventually she gave in.

"Aren't you going to ask me why I came rushing down here?" She opened.

"I figured you'd tell me.....you were working up to it." 

She smiled gently. 

"He phoned me."

Sam raised her eyebrows in reply but said nothing.

"Wednesday night."

"Ah!" She said, comprehending. 

"He was distraught......must have been, to ring me.....that late......I can't remember him ever doing that. That's why I came down. First opportunity. I was worried."

"We were both upset." Sam admitted. "He needed to cool down, and I needed some space, and time to think." 

"He's got it real bad, you know?" She said, reaching for Sam's hand. 

"Yeah. I know. Me too." Their eyes met, and Nancy gave a little squeeze. 

"Never seen him like this.....least wise not since Bitch Face!" 

"Bitch Face! Is that what you called Her?" Sam leaned back in her seat.

"That.....and more besides! She fucked him up so badly!" Nancy's expression clouded. 

"Yes. That's pretty obvious. We've talked about it, I know all about her now......Malcolm told me." 

"Fuck! Did he? Wow.......I mean........that's great.......that's.......that's huge Sam. Christ!" She looked so startlingly like her brother when she swore, that it was quite unnerving. 

"He found an old photo......and got really upset.......I came in and found him......it all kinda spilled out." 

Nancy sucked in a deep relieved breath.

"If he's opened up to you about Her, that's great.....it's a sign.....a good one, it means he must trust you. I wonder though......if you don't mind me saying......what you see in him.......I mean, he's a lot older than you......not exactly catch of the day?" 

Sam frowned.

"That's the first rude thing you've said to me Nancy." She paused. "But I'll let it go. He's your brother, you care, I get that." 

The sister looked contrite.

"I'm sorry Sam. You're right. But I know him of old, I know what he went through......."

"Stop! Right there! That's not for you to tell. It's for him. And if he wants me to know he'll tell me himself." Sam wrenched her hand away. 

"It's not a secret, everyone knows.......our father was a bully, he used to use the belt on him, and me too occasionally. Our mother was on the receiving end too. That's why Malc left home.....he floored the old man once, protecting our mam. He was a drunk.....and he wasn't much of a father, he thought that beating the crap out of his kids made them respect him. All it did was fill us with fear and contempt." 

"What do you mean.....it's not a secret.......?"

"Haven't you spoken to Jamie? McDonald? I'm married to Jamie's brother! Didn't you know? We all grew up together. Jamie is the same age as me. All little tearaways together, in the tenements. Jamie knows all about it!" 

Sam was astonished. Was this Malcolm's big secret? Was this the monster that lurked within him? The mystery assailant he fended off in his sleep?

She needed to speak to Jamie. 

Or did she? Sam's mind worked furiously.  
Maybe she shouldn't, maybe it should come from Malcolm himself. Going behind his back would be a betrayal. 

No. She wouldn't do it. 

Patience. 

Let him get there on his own.  
Sam suspected it might be a bigger deal for Malcolm than Nancy allowed. 

She clearly wasn't so particularly scarred by it, so why was Malcolm? 

It didn't make any sense. 

oOo

"Alright? Got me all sorted out have you? Between the two of you......done your......'let's straighten out poor old Malc bit?' I'm deliriously happy for you both!" 

Clearly Malcolm's mood had not lightened. He was sipping a coffee when they returned. 

Nancy crossed to her brother and hugged him. 

"You were the main topic of conversation, Brother dear! But that can't be a surprise surely!" 

"And what conclusion have you come to....? That I'm fucked beyond repair? Or that I'm salvageable?" 

Nancy took the bull by the horns, she was incorrigible, ploughing on, regardless of her sibling's finer feelings.  
Sam cringed inwardly as she launched into a diatribe.....well, at least it would save her the trouble of talking to Jamie, she thought fleetingly. 

"Why haven't you told Sam about Dad?" 

Malcolm gave an eye roll. 

"Oh! Fucking hell! Here we go! Why do you insist on raking it all up Nance....? Every fucking time?" 

She turned him to face her. 

"Because you won't talk about it.....and it's unhealthy! That's why!" His sisters face was thunder. 

Malcolm slammed down his cup. 

"See! This is why I don't go home so often any more!" He cried, flinging his arms in the air. 

"Because you won't fucking let it drop! It's the past Nance. And you're not gonna change anything by going over and over it! Leave it be!" 

"But I need to talk about it.......it's inside me......and you're the only one.......why was it always you? He said you were useless.....and you were so clever.......called you a little faggot once, because you didn't like sport......I remember.......why Malcolm? Why?" 

Malcolm's voice went up a notch, Sam could see more than anger brewing. 

"Because he was a fucking idiot. And he didn't know me......he thought he'd toughen me up, make a man of me......and mam got in the way, so she suffered too.....because of trying to protect me......he was fucking messed up........I've pushed it down and it should fucking stay there.....  
NOW. FUCKING. LEAVE. IT!" 

Sister and brother faced each other down, sharp eyes glaring into sharp eyes. 

Sam watched almost fascinated. Unable to look away. 

"But it should be spoken about! He was a bastard! You know it....I know it.....and mam sure as hell knew it! Fuck! I used to hear you crying in your room.....night after night.......and couldn't do a thing about it......when he'd belted you......"

Malcolm snapped. 

It was a strange and frightening sight. 

There was a fury there. Sam wasn't sure what nerve his sister had touched, but it was surely something more than simply receiving the strap. 

"STOP IT!" He yelled. Staggering back from her grip. 

His face blanched white. There was real terror there.  
Sam could see it. Nancy's eyes widened, as Malcolm bared his teeth. 

"SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU STUPID COW!" He screamed at the top of his voice. 

"Nancy........!" Sam warned, and moved forwards to pull her away. She thought that Malcolm was about to explode, or lash out. But he did neither. 

He crumpled. 

Sinking down. 

His arms and hands clasped over his head, defensively. 

"Get her the fuck away from me!" He gasped, as Sam knelt down beside him, her own arms around his head and shoulders protectively. 

"No more Nancy! No more!" Sam growled angrily, turning her face up towards his astonished sister. "You've said enough. Stop it now!" 

Nancy grabbed her handbag and stormed angrily down the hall and out through the front door. 

Sam cradled the weeping wreck that was the man she loved, hushing him gently. 

"She's gone Malcolm, she's gone, it's okay....." 

He turned his tear stained face to hers.

"She thinks she fucking knows it all!" He sobbed. "She knows nothing. Nothing. Tell her to go back home. I don't want to see her again." 

"I can't do that Malcolm. She's your sister. She's family. For right or wrong, she thinks she's helping you. She cares, she's got issues about your childhood that she needs to address.....it's affected her more deeply than she'd like to admit......she wants to get it all out.....move on.....it's been a long time.....you can't blame her for that." 

"Fucking turning up here.....out of the blue......causing mayhem......then fucking off back to Scotland again! Who the fuck does she think she is?" 

Sam helped Malcolm to stand. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. 

"My head hurts!" He moaned.

"I'm not surprised! Why don't you take a couple of Nurofen, go lie down for a bit?" 

"Yeah." He said, meekly. 

Once he was settled, she spoke to Nancy kindly after she eventually returned. The distraught sister sitting in the kitchen, weeping.  
The second Tucker that Sam had comforted that day. 

Malcolm was in bed.

At Sam's suggestion, Nancy sat down and wrote him a letter, which she left for him before she called a cab to convey her to the station to catch the evening train. 

Gently opening the door to his darkened room, she could see the object of her desires curled into a ball.  
The tall, thin man, his legs bought up at the knees, tight into his body, head curved onto his chest, in the foetal position. Both hands tucked between his thighs. 

Breathing deep and ragged. 

She crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.  
Feeling the depression of the mattress, his eyes opened drowsily. 

Sam stroked his head tenderly. 

"She's gone home." She whispered. 

"Thank fuck!" He breathed. 

"You okay?" Bending closer to him, she touched a kiss to his forehead. 

"Bin better!" He shrugged. 

"Come here." She pulled him into her and held him. Her hand sweeping across his back. 

"Next weekend......lets go away somewhere.......we need a break.....you need a break.....it's bank holiday......" She whispered gently. 

His voice replied from deep against her chest where his head was buried.

"Okay. Let's go back to that place in Suffolk. I like it there. So peaceful. I need peaceful.......fuck.....Sam, my chest hurts......" 

She rubbed her hand across his sternum, and he took a breath in and sighed.

"It's emotion, Malcolm. It's all just there.....like you're gonna burst open.....yeah? I know just what that feels like." 

"Yeah! That's it exactly. You DO know......don't you Sam? You know how I feel? Even if I'm not sure myself." He replied sleepily. 

"Yes, Malcolm. I do." She held him close again, continuing to rub him soothingly. 

"Fucking love you." He murmured, then she heard a gentle snoring. 

"Love you too, dearest idiot."


	16. Bank Holiday Weekend.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Malcolm esacape to their new favourite place after the horrendous week, following Nancy's visit.....Malcolm is close to melt down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are back to the coast again. I've written it because it kinda represents a respite for Malcolm, as well as for Sam.  
> It gives him the opportunity to relax. Brings him back from the brink. 
> 
> But a storm is brewing.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN  
BANK HOLIDAY. 

Malcolm was in a foul mood all week. 

No one escaped his wrath, not even Sam. 

Plagued with headaches, he bit off every head which was foolish enough to rise above the parapet. 

Two days at DoSAC where he succeeded in making Robyn cry, so that Nicola actually took him to one side and admonished him.  
He upset Terri to the extent that she stormed off and didn't come back for two hours.  
Then had Ollie pinned to the wall as he poked him in the chest with a finger, because he sent the wrong email to the press office. 

Back at Number Ten, he slammed his office door in Julius Nicholson's face and called him a 'mincing fucking cunt' when he questioned him over the latest poll figures for leadership popularity following Tom's speech at the Conference.  
Sam got it in the neck when she accidentally double booked him with the Employment Minister and the assistant editor of the Daily Fail.  
She however, refused to take it lying down.

"Malcolm! If you don't stop ranting, I'm walking out of this office."

"How fucking hard is it eh Sam? There's only one of me......"

"Thank Christ for that! God help us all if you cough up an identical twin." She spat. 

He rubbed at his head with his hand absentmindedly. 

"Malcolm.....take some paracetamol, for the love of God! And calm down before you have a bloody stroke." 

He plonked himself unceremoniously into his chair, with a loud puff. 

Coming behind him, she put her fingers to his temples, he flinched and made to snatch himself away, but she dragged his shoulders firmly back.

"Oi! Keep still!" She snapped. 

Her fingers massaged in circles gently, then across his brow. 

"Malcolm, you've got to stop this, or you're going to make yourself ill. I know you're still pissed at your sister. And I know you haven't read that letter she left you yet. But you need to chill.....seriously!" 

"Thank fuck it's Friday......lets leave dead on five......travel up to Suffolk this evening.....give us a bit extra time." 

"That sounds like a damn good plan." 

She left him then and went to pack up her desk and make sure all emails and paper work were dealt with. She could hear him on the phone through the open office door, dotting the i's and crossing the T's, leaving himself free to escape. 

oOo

Although it was May, the beach was very quiet. 

Sam knew all the best places. Not a soul around, except maybe the odd dog walker. 

Malcolm regarded her with a slight smile as she began producing things from her canvas beach bag.

"Mary fucking Poppins! What have you got in there?" 

"All the accoutrements we need! I'm always prepared! Didn't your mam ever do this? When you went to the beach?" 

Malcolm laughed.

"What in Glasgow? Joke! Never went to a fucking beach!" 

"What? You and Nancy never had a day at the beach when you were kids?" 

"Never!" 

"My Mum used to take us a bag like this, when we were young, Paul and I. And I do the same....I've got everything she used to bring.....except maybe buckets and spades!" 

"You're so special. You know that Sam. Doing all this......I like it.....it's different for me, and it's really special. Taking a bag, and going to the beach......makes me feel young, and it makes me long for what I missed out on as a kid."

She opened out the rug, spreading it and weighing down the corners with big stones.

"I'm creating a sand-free zone!" She said, beaming up at him. He laughed. 

Sam's heart gave a jolt, seeing him laugh out loud, it was a tonic. 

"You got a towel in there?" He enquired.

"Yeah.....a big beach towel. Why?" 

"Cos I'm going in." 

"What? Malcolm you're mental! It's May! It's the North Sea.....it'll be freezing! Your balls will drop off!" 

"Rubbish....it'll be invigorating......I'm gonna do it." 

He began to strip off.  
She watched in horror, as his skinny ribs were exposed, knobbly knees, long bony toes.  
The sun had very little heat in it, he was covered in goosebumps before he got anywhere near the water.  
He tip-toed off down the shingle, picking his way across the pebbles, arms waving about comically, until he reached the waters edge.  
He went in up to his thighs with a shudder, clutching himself, his arms folded across his chest. He turned to look at her briefly, then just plunged straight in. 

The speed at which he disappeared from view made Sam stand up in surprise, for a shocked moment she thought he wasn't going to come back up. But no......there he was......head breaking the surface, bobbing about, out beyond where the waves crashed into the shore.  
Taking the towel she walked down to the shoreline, and waited nervously. 

If he was blue before he took the plunge, he was almost purple when he emerged. 

"Brrrr! Fuck. It's cold." His hair dripped. Teeth chattering. His body was all a-tremble. 

She enveloped him in the towel and pulled it tight around him, as they made their way back to the rug.  
"Take your sopping wet trunks off......there's no one about......here......your clothes are ready." She handed him a T Shirt and thick sweat top to pull on as quick as he could. 

Once he was warm and dry, she produced a scalding hot cup of tea from a Thermos flask. 

Soon, he was snuggled at her side, sipping gratefully. 

"What else have you got in there?" He said with a slight shiver, peeping into the bag. 

"Sarnies, cake, a bottle of wine, Snickers, apples. Lots of stuff." She replied. 

Tea finished, he curled himself into her, with a contented sigh. The wind had dried his hair into a fluffy fuzz. 

Sam cradled him, then leaned over him and kissed his mouth. 

"Feel better for that?" 

"What the swim, or the kiss?" 

"Both!" 

"Yeah, much. Got the blood pumping and no mistake! First day for a week I haven't had a fucking headache." 

"Lay back. You want me to rub you?" 

"Fuck, yeah.....like you did before? Loved that Sam......it was great. Made me feel fucking wonderful. Mind you, you always make me feel fucking wonderful." 

She smiled down at him, as he looked up into her face eagerly. 

"Close your eyes then. You wanna try that meditation technique I taught you?" 

"Where I just listen to stuff? Shut my thoughts off......?" 

"You can do that.....or just focus on my hands.......which ever works best for you....." 

"Like it when you touch me.......will you do that Sam? Touch me all over, then take me out and stroke me like you did before.....so fucking hot......"

"You want another blow job? Is that what you're saying? You can just ask Malcolm, it's no big deal..." 

"Is to me! Nah.....don't want to come like that, not in your mouth......it doesn't feel right.......but I'd like to come with you touching me.....that feels nice." 

"Alright......none of this holding back though.......you come when you want to, just let go.....okay?" 

"I'll try." 

"You need to get relaxed first. So we'll do the meditation to start......close your eyes and concentrate your mind.....ready?" 

"So ready! So, so ready Sam.......fuck......so great, that you do this for me......it's so....so......amazing. Makes me feel like I'm really wanted, and loved." 

" That's because you are!" 

Her hands moved gently under his clothes, and his body went limp in seconds. His mind screaming just to close off and rest itself. The thoughts of the previous Sunday which had been haunting him all week began to melt away. His breathing evened out, jaw became lax, hands spread on the rug at his sides.  
She continued her gentle massage for more than twenty minutes, and all he could hear was the sound of the sea.  
Bliss.  
Peace and tranquility.  
When her hand slid under his waistband he sucked in his abs but his breath hardly hitched. 

She kneaded him through his boxers at first, the soft material against his skin, then she pulled them down slightly, moving his prick so it rested on his stomach. Leaving his balls covered she exposed his cock to the air, keeping the elastic of his waistband tight across the base of his shaft.  
Holding him firmly in place and trapping the blood there.  
Concentrating her efforts against his most sensitive area, just below the head, and the head itself.  
Gathering the precum from his slit with her finger and using it to lubricate her easy stroking.  
"Oh fuck.....Sam.....so good." He whispered. His hips lifting now in rhythm with her hand. 

Her other hand moving up inside his T Shirt, she teased his ultra responsive nipples. Tweaking them gently until he moaned wantonly.  
"Jesus!.......wanna come so bad......." 

She kissed him tenderly.  
"Then come, Malcolm.......don't wait to be told........"  
"Just like to hear you say it.......say I can.......I just......I need you to........please......."  
The pressure of her thumb against him was almost too much, he groaned and lifted himself higher.  
"Please......" He pleaded, but she remained silent. Pumping him more strongly now.  
He peaked, exploding with a gasp and a mewling cry.  
His still half restrained cock pulsing.

"Fuck....you make me feel so......I came......so hard.......you didn't say......." He blurted, almost apologetically. 

"It's good Malcolm.......did you enjoy it?" 

"Fuck yeah!" He breathed. 

"Stay still, I've got tissues and wipes here......" She reached into the bag. 

She cleaned him, with a reverence that effected him deeply. Then kissed him again.  
"Has that worked up an appetite?" She asked, with a wink. 

"Hell yeah......" He propped himself up on one elbow. 

She produced a bottle of wine, and sandwiches. Some cake and other bits and pieces. 

He ate ravenously, they swigged the wine straight from the bottle. He lay his head in her lap, and closed his eyes. 

"When you do that for me.....you make it all go away Sam......I'm just normal.......I feel......different....like I'm free.......mind.....body......I just float.......you know? It's brilliant!" 

"Yes, I do know. I'm glad it helps you, and I'm glad it works for you." 

"Love this place too, Sam.....love coming here......being on the beach......never done anything like this with any woman I've ever known......it's better than anything I ever remember. Can you understand that? It's like I'm laying down good memories, over the bad......." 

"Oh sweetie!" She hugged him tight. "Any single thing I can do.....I'll willingly do it. I want you to have some happiness.....because you so deserve it.......and you need to know I love you." 

The wine was gone, he felt mellow, not wasted. Pleasantly tingly.  
They kissed a great deal, dozed a little in the now warm sunshine. His questing fingers slid down her body and inside her knickers, moving the lace to one side, finding the spot that made her moan his name. He touched her gently, expertly and with great tenderness.  
"Shit, you're so wet for me. Just let it happen Sam......yeah.......oh yeah.......there it is......." 

She reached her climax with a series of gentle sighs into his neck. 

"Just love feeling you do that, watching your face......so fucking beautiful......." 

oOo

They didn't really do much.  
But it didn't matter. 

Boots on, they walked. Long walks, across the marshes, along the coastal path, through the beautiful woods. Visiting little pubs for cosy lunches, then back to the town in the evening to one of the nice restaurants or ensconced in two enormous armchairs in their hotel. 

This lunchtime they were eating fish and chips, on their laps.....out of the paper.  
Greasy fingers, vinegar on the front of his jumper.  
"Ha! 'Hats f....uckinnnn 'ot! Ah! Ha! Ah!" Malcolm waved a hand in front of his mouth as the scalding mouthful he'd just taken burned his tongue.....unable or unwilling to spit it back out, he balanced it on his tongue, mouth open....wobbling it around inside his cheeks.....  
Sam began to laugh until her sides hurt.  
"No' fucking funny......" He swallowed with difficulty, then burst into a fit of giggles. It delighted her when she discovered that he squeaked in his throat when he really laughed hard. 

Sometimes she caught him gazing off wistfully into the distance, his vision clouded, brow furrowed. She would reach for his hand, touch it, and he'd come back from his dark thoughts, turn to her, and give a little smile.  
Other times she'd be talking to him, and she knew he'd zoned out. Glazed over.  
"Earth to Malcolm.....come in Malcolm! _Chrrr!"_ She held a cupped hand over her mouth and mimicked a walkie talkie. 

He'd look at her, confused, then realise, he'd missed half her words. 

"Sorry!" He'd shrug apologetically. 

But by the end of the three days, he was much more relaxed. Less pinched and gaunt looking.  
Not so severe of mien.  
Sleeping more soundly. Headaches vanished. 

Sam allowed herself to relax a little too. She hoped the damage Nancy's visit had done was not lasting. 

He seemed to have recovered his equilibrium. 

For now at least.


	17. The Letter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big chapter for Malcolm. 
> 
> Decisions, far reaching and momentus are forming in his mind.....
> 
> He finally reads the letter Nancy left for him. 
> 
> Sam speaks to Jamie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is reaching the conclusion that his whole relationship with Sam might be soured unless he can do something about facing his past. 
> 
> He coped before because he was alone, now he's in love, and he knows something has to give in order to move on and be truly happy.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.  
THE LETTER.

 

_"Dearest Malc,_

_I'm so sorry. Please forgive me._  
_Such a shit sister. It wasn't my intention to wound you, I wanted to help. That's why I came._  
_After your call last week I was really worried._

_I needed to see you and I wanted to talk._

_I know that you struggle with stuff from the past. I know you carry hurt and pain._

_So do I._

_And I think we both need to address it, otherwise it'll never let us go. We will always suffer._  
_For me it was less my own injury and more what I witnessed. I don't think the odd times dad belted me are my problem._ _It's what I saw you and mam go through. I can't move on, and I can't leave it behind._  
_Mam is gone now, and you are the only person I can really talk to about it._

_I need that Malcolm._

_Badly._

_I'm so so sorry that you were the one who got the raw deal. I'm aware that there's a great deal I don't know, Mac and Jamie have hinted that. But neither of them really know either. Only what they saw at the time._

_We have to face this stuff sometime and, I think, if your relationship with Sam is to flourish, it needs to be sooner rather than later._  
_Sam is a treasure by the way.....and she truly loves you.....I'm certain of it._

_Please talk to me. I'm on the end of the phone any time._  
_You're my brother and I love you._

_Your loving sister_  
_Nancy. "_

 

Malcolm screwed up the sheet of paper and threw it into the bin. 

He paced.

He chewed at the side of his thumb. 

Bent down. Retrieved the page, smoothed it out, and put it in the drawer of his desk. Shutting it with a slam. 

Paced some more.

Kicked the bin across the room. 

Opened the drawer and took out the letter again. Re-read it.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

oOo

"Sammy! Darlin'! How the fuck are ye?" 

"Jamie! .....Please don't call me Sammy......I hate it!" 

"Sorry hen! Where's Lucifer? Is he in there?" He nodded towards Malcolm's office door. 

"Yes. And he's not to be disturbed." 

"Pourquoi?"

"Because he's making some phone calls......."

"Fucking phone calls? Are ye sure he's not just having a wank?" 

"Positive! Anyway, what can I do you for?" 

Jamie perched his backside on the edge of Sam's desk. 

"I've got the poll figures he asked for, the ones Baldymort was getting his pants in a palaver about. Malc asked me to check them, and drop them over.  
I also have good news and bad news....."

Sam rolled her eyes. 

"Oh God! What is it? We've just come back from a weekend away......I've just managed to bring his Stroke Threat Level down from 'Critical' to 'Moderate' and I don't want you upsetting him."

Jamie cackled at her wit. 

"Good news is Tom's popularity has risen substantially since he gave the conference speech. His position, once precarious, is now stable.....at least for the moment.  
The bad news is the ex Mayor of London has made some extremely controversial and ill advised comments about Israel's treatment of the Palestinians, he's been accused of Anti-Semitism, and the press have got hold of it and are going to rip chunks off him and spatter them all over the front pages. Unless we can get the stupid cunt to apologise, grovel, say he was misquoted or whatever. They are threatening to suspend or even expel him from the Party." 

"Oh! That's just terrific! Jamie.....can't you handle this? Does he have to be told just yet? It's been one hell of a week." 

The Scot frowned, and looked melancholy. 

"Fuck! I'd spare him if I could......but it's motion to wars Sam. He's my superior....he has to be in the loop. In fact I'm surprised he hasn't heard already. What the fuck happened last week anyway? I heard he was tearing the tits off everyone at DoSAC? He drew blood on occasions I'm reliably informed?" 

"He had a surprise visit......."

Jamie looked puzzled. 

"......From Nancy." 

He grimaced, and whistled through his teeth. 

"Oh shite! That would do it! What the fuck did she want?" 

"She was worried about him, we had a little set to at the conference, and he phoned her......it all went bloody pear-shaped. They had a huge row. It was horrible." 

"Christ on a bendy bus! What was it about?" 

Sam sighed, and hesitated. She felt conspiratorial talking about Malcolm behind his back. 

"Well......it's complicated." She hedged. 

"I can probably guess.......his Da......right?" 

"Well......yes. That was about the size of it." She paused. "Jamie.....do you know what happened? Why he won't talk about it....?" 

"Sam......truthfully?" He lowered his voice dramatically. "All I really know is, his dad used to belt him quite a bit.....but fuck.....everyone used to get whacked in those days. I did....regularly.....but I was a little shite!  
It was okay until Malc was about eight or so.......then it really got bad......it was around then he really started to clam up. Was really quiet and withdrawn.  
His mam sent him to church.....to confession.....she told him to ask God for forgiveness, and that if he was a good boy, he wouldn't need a thwacking......Malc used to go religiously.......pardon the pun........he was an altar boy.......but it didn't seem to help much.  
In fact it got worse. He was always banging on about being good......worked so fucking hard at school......never in trouble with the polis.......I never understood it.  
His Da was always real hard on him, because he wasn't tough and beefy like him, he was thin and wiry, not into sport and stuff, he liked his books and writing.....his Da called him a mammy's boy, said he was a fairy......or a faggot.....I heard him call him that once......but Malc was never effeminate, it was all bollocks, dunno where it came from.  
Malc would go to our little den we had, in the ruined tenements, they'd started tearing them down then, rehousing people......he'd hide there. We all did. It was our sanctuary." 

Sam listened intently, then, she pulled Jamie to one side. Away from the desk, moving in close to him. 

"Jamie......be honest with me.......do you think you'd know if.......God! Please don't tell Malc I asked you this......please, but I want you to tell me if you can.......do you think it's more than that? Is it possible that Malcolm's father.....I mean could it be more serious than that........? Fuck! I can't even believe I'm asking you this......."

Jamie's eyebrows raised and his eyes grew wide. 

"Fuck no! It was nothing like that! Malc's Da was a bully sure, and a drunk a lot of the time....but....nah! It was nothing like that......I'm certain. I'd know. Why do you ask?" His voice was above a whisper now. 

"I can't really say.......it's just that.......oh I don't know! I can't explain......I just......"

At that moment the door to Malcolm's office flung open, and an enraged Tucker stood in the doorway.  
He resembled a bull in the ring......head down, horns bared, steam coming out of both ears. 

"I've just heard the fucking News Bulletin on Radio Four!" He bellowed, then seeing Jamie, he metaphorically scraped one foot on the ground, as he prepared to charge. 

"What the fuck is going on? What the hell is that twat saying? Does he want to unleash the London equivalent of Kristallnacht? Create a fucking ghetto in Lambeth? Is he on drugs? Suffering from a fucking brain tumour? What exactly? The man is a complete fucking numpty!" 

The vein in his temple bulged, as his rage consumed him. 

"Get in here, fucking Wee Jimmy Crankie......" He addressed himself to his fellow countryman, gesturing towards his office door.  
"Sam.......strong coffee and a stonking great jammy doughnut please......I need the fucking caffeine, and I need a carb fix!" 

His PA groaned, as the two disappeared into Malcolm's room and the door was shut firmly behind them. 

This was going to be a long and tiring evening. 

oOo

It was almost midnight.  
Malcolm was lying on the carpet, in the middle of the floor in Sam's living room. 

She arranged him carefully.  
A cushion to support his head and neck. Back flat, knees bent so that his feet were flat against the floor. Hip width apart. His arms spread a little away from his body. Palms up, fingers outstretched. 

Dressed only in his boxers and an old t shirt. 

Sam had one hand resting flat on his sternum. 

She was speaking softly to him as his eyes fluttered shut and he tried to concentrate.

"Let your breath flow as deep down into your tummy as you can Malcolm, but don't force it, okay?"

"'Kay!" He muttered.

"Try breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth. Concentrate on making my hand rise and fall.......focus on that."

His brows furrowed as he fought to relax. 

"Fuck!" He whispered.

"This is a different technique to what we've tried before......but it could work for you, you could use it in the office, anywhere really......just to help you relax......"

"Feels weird Sam....."

"Breathe in gently and regularly. The trick is to count steadily from one to five......it helps to focus on the counting, it diverts your thoughts......don't expect to reach five at first. I know it's hard Malcolm......and I don't expect you to get it straight away.....so take your time.....okay?" 

As he counted he began to breathe erratically, and then panic, but she continued to speak softly to him to quell his alarm. 

"Don't pause or hold your breath, just let it flow out gently, count from one to five again. So you breathe in through your nose to the slow count of five.....then out through your mouth, slow count of five......we're going to do it for about five minutes.....that'll be enough for a first time I think......" 

Beneath her hand his chest rose and fell, as gradually he began to become calm and a stillness settled on him. 

After a while his eyes opened slowly, and he looked at her face as it floated just above him.  
"Better?" She asked soothingly.

"Fuck, yeah! Much!" He replied. "Feels like I'm light......you know? Spaced out....."

"In a good way though right?" 

"Yeah! How the fuck do you know all this stuff?" 

"I went to classes when I was at Uni......I needed to get myself over all the shit in my life, it was all so raw then, all the guilt about my dad, and all the pent up feelings I seemed to have.....you know that pain in your chest you were talking about the other day?  
I used to get that all the time....it's emotion, nerves, anxiety, it got so bad I could barely function.....I had this friend who was a bit of a hippy........into holistic therapy and relaxation, meditation, all that.....so I tried it. I was willing to try anything to be honest.....and I found it helped. Better than tablets anyhow. I found it beneficial, I improved.....so I've kept doing it ever since.  
It helps me!" 

Malcolm sat up slowly, and accepted a glass of water. 

"I read Nancy's letter." 

"Really? It's been there all week....." 

"Yeah. Well......couldn't fucking face it." 

"And?" She quirked an eyebrow. 

"You can read it if you like......it's in my jacket pocket."

Leaving him on the floor she knelt up and fetched the crumpled missive. Opened it, perused the contents in silence, then looked at Malcolm questioningly. 

"What are you going to do?" 

"Dunno......"

"Well, whatever you decide, I'm there......okay? However bad it is, whatever the consequences, I'm there.....as long as you know that." 

Her hand stroked the side of his face, lingering against the cheek. He leaned into the touch with a grateful puff of air through his lips. 

"Fuck Sam.......gotta think it through.......if I went to see someone......would you come?  
Dunno who, dunno if anyone can help.....or even if I can do it........not big on therapists, or psychologists or whatever.......could try to tell you I guess........." 

A sheen of perspiration dotted his top lip, and he felt clammy to her touch. 

"I'm not a professional Malcolm. I'm not qualified for counselling, I can listen, sure, but I wouldn't know the first thing about treating you, if you should need it....or what help to offer.....my gut instinct is that you should see a Clinical Psychologist......."

"Too scared Sam.......spent most of my life pushing this stuff down.......but I don't think I can do it much longer.....Nancy's right........you and me.......if I've got this big thing inside......it's gonna fucking destroy me......us.......it's got worse lately.......when I was on my own, I coped okay, but now I've got you....fuck Sam......I have got you, haven't I? Please?" 

"Yes, Malc.......completely. Trust me. Have I got you?" 

"Fuck yes! I feel like I've got something to live for........someONE.......but there's this great ball of fuck in my head, and it's blotting out everything else. It's stopping me being a whole person, and I hate that......I want that with you.........it's like I'm constantly fighting against myself.....you know?" 

"Yes. I do know. Exactly! Malcolm, I'll do anything I can to help. Anything. We can go together. Whatever it takes." 

"Tired now Sam. Really tired." 

"Tell you what....I'll make us some cocoa.......we'll take it to bed."

"Got any marshmallows?" 

Sam laughed.

"You're a bloody big kid, you know that?"


	18. Into the Underworld.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm has a terrible nightmare. 
> 
> He comes to some momentous decisions, starting with reasons why he should face his demons and seek help. 
> 
> Sam phones Julius Nicholson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again there is some deep stuff in this chapter so please be aware. 
> 
> Malcolm is coming round to the idea that he needs help. It takes a lot of thought, but he begins to consider the reasons WHY he wants help and what he can gain from it. 
> 
> As usual Sam is the support and encouragement he needs.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.  
INTO THE UNDERWORLD.

Sam was dreaming, it was a pleasant dream, in which she was walking somewhere with Malcolm, she wasn't sure where, didn't recognise the locale. They were holding hands, and he was smiling. Happy, carefree.  
Then, everything seemed to fade slightly, and they were being pushed along, by a crowd that seemed to appear from nowhere. A seething mass of people, their hands slipped apart as the multitude surged, she cried out desperately as he was carried away from her, borne along like a log in a river. He tried to fight his way back to her, but she soon lost sight of him among the sea of heads and all she could hear was him calling her name ....'Sam! Sam! Sam!'. 

Waking with a jolt. She sat up. 

Malcolm was thrashing beside her. His knees were bent up towards his chest. His head covered by his hands one moment, then his arms flinging out the next, threatening to smack her if she got in the way.  
His naked skin was a sheen of perspiration, down his chest, between his shoulder blades, on his forehead and in his hair.  
Every so often a murmured string of words would tumble out of him, most of which were unintelligible, although she caught the odd one. Her own name being chief among them.  
It was what had woken her.  
He appeared to be fighting a bear, or wrestling a lion, his fingers clutching handfuls of the bottom sheet, trying to pull it over to cover himself.  
As she watched, horrified yet fascinated, his back gave a convulsive arch of sudden apparent pain and he cried aloud, "NO!" 

His eyes snapped open.

Staring around himself wildly. 

"SAM!"

"It's okay, sweetie......I'm here." She reached for him. 

"Oh, fuck! Fuck!" He breathed as though he'd been sprinting, out through his mouth, bringing his hand up to his face as the horrors began to fade from him. 

"What is it? Can you tell me?" 

"Fuck! No......oh shit.....hold me Sam.....please!" 

She clasped him close to her as he continued to pant into her chest, gradually slowing and becoming calmer after several minutes. 

oOo

She passed him the mug, and he took it, with a trembling hand, sipping gratefully. Now showered and wearing a clean T shirt and pyjama bottoms.  
But still pale, and shocked. 

"Okay now?" She asked, sitting patiently beside him as he drank. 

"So, real." He murmured.

"The nightmare?" 

"Yeah. I could even smell the........" He stopped, closed his eyes, then continued. "Makes me feel sick to this day." He shook his head, as if to rid it of a vision. 

"It'll be time to get up soon....alarm'll be going off." She observed, stifling a yawn. 

"Not going in Sam. Not today. Can't." 

"Okay? Not what I expected. A day off.....a sickie?" 

"I'm owed more days off than the whole fucking department put together. They can do without me. I've got some serious thinking to do. Gotta take the shit that's running around in my head and try to make sense of it. Decide what I'm gonna do." 

Sam took his hand gently. 

"Sounds like an eminently sensible plan." 

His look towards her was one of pain and confusion. 

"Fucking don't know what to do Sam. Where to start? This is so fucking huge, I can't even comprehend it......or how I'm going to face it, or deal with it, or even tackle it. I only know that it's fucking destroying me. Eating me up slowly. And I just have to stop it......if I don't I'm gonna cark it! I can't go on like this. It's literally killing me." 

"Shall I tell you what I think?" She said gently. "It's something I did myself.......and although it didn't help me deal with my problems, it started the ball rolling......."

He glanced up at her shyly, as if she were going to ask him to bare his very soul, and he had no manual as to how. 

"I wrote down all the reasons why I thought telling someone my 'stuff' would help me. Just that.  
I thought about it all, and I jotted down on a piece of paper, my thoughts on what it would mean to me, to share it.....to tell someone else.......to not be the only one who knew." 

Malcolm nodded. 

"I didn't write anything of what happened to me, or about the journals or any details. I just thought about what it would mean.......in my life. Why don't you try that? It might help you make things clearer in your head. And it might help you to decide what to do next." 

"Okay." He said quietly. " First thing in the morning, I'll try."

"Why not try to get an other couple of hours sleep. You look exhausted." She whispered. 

"If you'll stay here.....hold me close, yeah?" 

"Of course Malcolm. Of course I will." 

oOo

Dressing gown on, hair mussed but gorgeously attractive, Malcolm sat watching Sam prepare breakfast. It was still early, and he was not dressed either, or shaved. 

He looked grey and old. Worn out with the pain of it all. Where he'd seemed relaxed only a short time before while they'd been away.  
It was delaying the inevitable. Sam knew it, and she was sure Malcolm did too. 

He was in a virtual bobsleigh. Careering down the Cresta Run. Out of control. Any moment now he would either make it round the next curve or flip over and tip out. 

She came behind him as he sat deep in thought. His mind wandering helplessly. It almost made him jump as she curled her arms around his neck and kissed the side of his head.

"Don't force it Malcolm. We have all day. Have you spoken to anyone?" 

"Yeah." He turned his cheek to nuzzle against her. "Phoned Julius."

"What did you say?" 

"Told him I had the shits! Dodgy curry. Told him I was arse spraying mayhem. He laughed." 

"I'm gonna jump in the shower.......coming?" 

"Fuck....yeah!" 

Malcolm would never have dreamed of showering or bathing with his ex, or anyone else for that matter. But Sam....well, she was different. She seemed to enjoy these little tender rituals, washing together, massaging him, stroking his skin, any physical contact.  
He loved it.  
It soothed him, made him feel cherished. Calmed his anxiety. 

It wasn't always sexual either, sometimes it was just feeling him close that she seemed to crave.  
Fuck it all. He needed that too. So much. 

oOo

He was seated now in her little work room. Door open. Somewhere he could hear her vaguely pottering about the flat.  
Going about the business of her day. 

Humming to herself, as she tidied the living room. Cleared the breakfast things in the kitchen, and changed the bed sheets. 

It was so nice to sit there and hear her padding about. The sound of the washing machine sloshing into action. The Hoover going. 

The blank sheet of paper in front of him, pen poised in his hand. 

Malcolm closed his eyes and tried the breathing exercise she'd taught him. He was becoming more adept at it. It really helped him. He was so grateful she'd taken such pains to teach him. 

Her head peeped in. A cup of tea in her hand. Glancing at the empty page in front of him, she set the mug down, and he caught her wrist, pulling her onto his lap. Settling there comfortably, her arms around his neck, she kissed him sweetly. 

"If it won't come, don't worry Malcolm. Don't get stressed over it. Just let it be.....okay? There's another day tomorrow, and it's waited all this time." 

He laid his face against her breast, closing his eyes. 

"Can I tell you what's come so far?" He said slowly. 

She pulled back from him slightly, looking into his eyes, as if expecting to see some revelation writ large there. 

"Of course!" She answered kindly. "Whatever you want......"

"I wanna stop being fucking controlled." He said, simply. 

"I understand." She affirmed, snuggling into him again. 

"I just keep going over and over it........what if I'd been fucking different in some way?........I don't know, stronger.......or weaker, quieter.....or louder, or if I'd been more clever or less bright, that maybe it wouldn't have happened. I wouldn't have been the one.  
See.....it was my fault." 

"No Malcolm! It wasn't your fault. And telling someone will lessen that control over you."

"Yeah. That's what I was thinking."

"Well, it's a good start. Anything else?" 

He sipped the tea she'd bought him and swallowed thoughtfully. 

"Dunno....." He shrugged 

"Everything I've ever fucking done......job, marriage.....everything, it all comes back down to that in the end. And I guess getting it off my chest might help me deal with the other shit.  
So that's a fucking good reason.....right there!  
It's just that I struggle to acknowledge it Sam......I keep fucking denying it all the time.....trying to push it down, you know? I feel so fucking ashamed.......and it keeps trying to find other ways to get out.....like last night. It's like I've kept this huge secret ever since I can remember, and it burns....."

Sam turned to face him earnestly. 

"You feel guilty Malcolm.....yeah? That's what I felt. I treated my dad like shit. I didn't understand, I was sixteen. I just wanted him to be my dad. Not someone who cried all bloody day. Then when I found out what he'd been through......Jesus! I felt so bloody guilty. I hated myself. I was horrible to him.....but I didn't know.  
I think you are grieving too. I grieved for my dad.  
You are grieving for the child you were."

"I've always hated myself! And that's another thing I want to get out of this.......to be able to say to myself.....'you're not a bad person'. Is that too much to hope for after all this time do you think?" 

His fingers traced the line of her jaw tenderly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

"My darling! It's never too late. Never. To value yourself for the man you are, what you've achieved, where you are now, in spite of it all. Connecting with that child.......the one who remembers the pain, the confusion, the dread and the fear. Honouring your younger self.  
There's incredible merit in that......." 

He pressed his head into her. Sniffing slightly. 

"It's so fucking complicated. But I want to be able to build my relationship with you.....if you're willing.....and that's gonna need me to place complete trust......and to be honest, with myself as well as you.......fuck Sam......you know what? Something was taken from me all those years ago.......and I want it back." 

"Well, that's another reason then.......for telling someone. A compassionate ear, but a relative stranger. They are not going to judge you Malcolm, or apportion blame......they'll listen, they'll evaluate and they'll try to help you. If nothing else it might ease your mind."

oOo

After lunch, Malcolm was napping. On the sofa. 

Drained. Wrung out. 

Sam left him to it. 

She worked quietly on some emails. On a whim she picked up the phone and dialled Julius Nicholson. 

_"Lord Nicholson? It's Samantha Cassidy."_

_"What can I do for you my dear?"_

_"You can be a friend. To Malcolm."_

_"How is he?"_

_"Tired. Very tired. He doesn't know I'm ringing you. He's sleeping. But I want you to do a PR job for me......for him......please. I don't care what you come up with, a really good excuse for why he's not at work. But he needs some time.....and if Tom gets wind of this, or the press, there'll be a shitstorm of massive proportions. They'll have a field day with him. And it's important to me that that doesn't happen. There's nothing going on that Jamie McDonald can't handle. So I'm begging you.....cut some slack for him......just for a bit......I know it's within your power to do it."_

__

_"You ask a great deal. I'm not Malcolm's nurse maid. But I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can send him on a fact finding mission! Tom would like that. That'll take a day or two!"_

_"Thank you J.....Lord Nicholson. I wouldn't have asked, but I know he won't, so I thought I'd try.....I had nothing to lose."_

_"Leave it with me. But he owes me one!"_

_"Julius......you owe him a lot more than that! He's had your back on many occasions.....it's pay back time....."_

_"Fair point. My! But he has a worthy champion in you! Heaven help the lion that takes you on in the Gladatorial arena!"_

_"You have no idea! Goodbye sir!"_

_"I'll be in touch Miss Cassidy."_

She rang off. 

Malcolm was stirring, yawning and stretching. 

Sam perched on the sofa next to him. 

"Fresh air?" She enquired. 

"Mmm! Okay......hey Sam?" 

"What is it?" 

"I've thought of another reason........"

"Do tell?" 

"There might be others. Like me. Fighting for their whole lives, a steep uphill grind. Full of shame as to what others might think of them. Haunted....like me. With stuff locked inside....and it fucking breeds Sam......compounds the initial hurt......it binds you......you're a fucking victim. Sticks to you, like super glue......if it all comes out, it might help them....."

She flung her arms around his neck, kissing him thoroughly. 

"I'm SO proud of you Malcolm Tucker. You are so brave. You know that.....? So. So brave." 

"Fuck! Haven't done anything yet!" 

"You have though. You've started a process. When things like this happen, everything goes out of the window. The loss is irretrievable. Innocence gone. Safety ripped away. Any sense of sanity or reasons as to why things happen or what is fair, are shredded.  
Naming the hurt we reclaim our dignity, and can start to build anew.  
Like a Phoenix from the ashes.....you know? From the wreckage of what was lost.......it's a big, big step Malcolm.  
And I'm so proud that you've even started doing this."

"Let's go for a walk yeah.......and can we go to that place where they do the crêpes? I fancy a stack of very fattening pancakes!!" 

Sam laughed. 

"If that's what you want!!"


	19. Paying the Ferryman.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is the day of his first appointment. 
> 
> A huge day. 
> 
> A painful day. 
> 
> But Malcolm, although terrified, is determined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much the way a first visit would go, from the POV of a therapist, councillor or psychologist. 
> 
> Obviously it is not as rote. It's a story, not the real thing. I've done quite a bit of research for this part of the story, both for Malcolm's problem itself and for the therapy side. 
> 
> So I hope has a modicum of truth. 
> 
> Again, this is deep stuff so please be aware before reading.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.  
PAYING THE FERRYMAN. 

"It's not like you wake up one bright fucking morning and say to yourself, 'Wow! There's something missing in my shit life.....I'd love to chat to a total fucking stranger and share my innermost personal fears, thoughts and feelings and see just how screwed up I really am'!! For the love of Christ!" 

Malcolm was a mess. 

Outwardly and inwardly. 

In a fool mood. Headache.  
Brow furrowed.  
Pacing.  
Ranting now, as he paced. 

He resembled someone who'd been recently whitewashed. A blue tinge to the lips. Eyes sharp and fierce.  
Worked up, wringing his hands, biting his nails. 

The previous day he'd barely been able to eat.  
Stomach cramps.  
Sam had persuaded him, with great difficulty, to eat some breakfast, lest he should faint away. 

Every five minutes he glanced at his watch. 

"Malc.....sweetie. It's not like ANYONE wants to visit a psychiatrist or therapist. Most people would avoid it like the plague. You're no different! It isn't something you want to deal with.....I certainly didn't. I thought it would be a waste of time.....but it wasn't!" 

Once in the car he huffed and wriggled, pulling on his seat belt distractedly. Sam was driving, she thought it best, she was concerned he would have an accident, he was so wired. 

Appointment made. Rubicon crossed.  
Now all she had to do was actually get him there. 

She'd aimed on arriving at least fifteen minutes early.  
Paperwork. 

She knew he'd have forms to fill in. 

She also knew there was no way to get over this fear and anxiety. It was one heck of a scary journey, one of self discovery. Of finding the chinks in his steel armour. Learning things about himself, and bringing the light of day to shine on things that had been successfully well hidden. Demons were going to emerge, things he would prefer that no one in the world knew about. 

"Malcolm, try to regulate your breathing." She turned to him in the passenger seat, as he wrestled with himself. "You're going to hyperventilate."

"Can't Sam! Not this time."

"You want me to pull over? We've ample time?"

"Yeah. Just for a sec." 

Indicating, she stopped in a lay by and switched off the engine. Turning sideways, she placed her hand gently on his chest. 

"Close your eyes Malcolm, and breathe.....on the five count......with me.......ready? One......two......"  
Her voice was soft and calming. "..........don't fight these feelings Malcolm. Just accept them. They are part of the process. You're shit scared......rightly so......and that's okay. It's fine to be frightened.  
But without making these changes in your life, you're just going to carry on feeling bad, and afraid.  
It won't go away." 

For five minutes they sat thus. Until he could gradually open his eyes and focus clearly and rationally. 

"Better?" 

"Yeah. Fuck.....I can't go through with this Sam."

"You wanna go back? I can turn round." 

He hesitated.  
Shit.....but she wasn't pushing him. It had to be his decision, not hers.........only he could decide if he was ready. 

"No!" He muttered indistinctly. "No!"

oOo

A cheery, bright and spacious waiting area. Friendly receptionist. 

Sam spoke to her. 

"Mr Tucker. To see Mr Faversham."

"Here's a form to fill in, just a few general questions. I'll leave you to do that while you wait." 

She smiled, passing the paper over, and handing Malcolm a pen. 

"Do take a seat, you'll be called in a moment." 

Having ticked the boxes rapidly, and rattled off a few sentences, Malcolm sat glancing nervously around him, his eyes like a kestrel fastened on a mouse. Not a thing did he miss.  
Pictures on the walls. The leaflet rack. Flowers in a vase. Water cooler. Coffee and tea machine.  
His hand was clutching Sam's so tight that he was crushing her ring into her other fingers. 

Sweating.  
Back, armpits, shirt collar. 

He'd insisted on wearing a suit and tie.  
Why? 

Fuck if Sam knew. 

To make himself seem more together? A professional? Most certainly not mentally ill or in some way inadequate? A smart and intelligent man, just with a little issue that needed addressing?" 

"Mr Tucker? Would you like to go through? Room four." 

Malcolm stood, but didn't let go of Sam's hand. 

"You gotta come!" He hissed. 

"I'm not sure if I'll be allowed......." She hesitated. 

She contemplated asking the receptionist, but at that moment a grey haired man appeared from the corridor.  
In his fifties, distinguished looking. Tall. Imposing. Dark rimmed spectacles. 

"Mr Tucker?" He called, to the room in general. 

"Here." Malcolm replied. 

"Sorry.....you may come through.....the receptionist buzzed me, but you didn't appear.....wanted to make sure you hadn't got lost!" He smiled congenially. 

Well, at least he didn't resemble a twelve year old, still with the cradle marks on his arse, Malcolm mused. 

Still he clutched Sam and looked as if he were about to make a bolt for the street. 

"Can't do it alone. Is it okay if Sam comes in?.........I need her......"

"Of course it's okay! Later maybe, when I know you better, you can come in alone, but until such time.......if that's what you want that's fine! Mrs Tucker is it?" 

"Er, no, it's Miss Cassidy, we're not married......" Sam held out her other hand to shake. The one that Malcolm wasn't firmly attached to. 

oOo

Mr Faversham's office was clearly meant to make the patient feel at ease.  
Muted colours. Calming pictures. 

"Where's the couch?" Malcolm observed, glancing around him. 

The therapist smiled.  
"That's all a bit old hat now. We don't lie you down and say, 'tell me all about your mother'. There is somewhere you can relax if you want to, but for now, can I offer you a seat?" 

Malcolm sat, bolt upright, ramrod straight, as if he were about to be given electric shocks, or have his eyes gouged out. He still held on resolutely to Sam's hand. 

"Now then. Let's begin. First of all Mr Tucker......do you prefer that? Or shall I call you Malcolm?" 

"Well, we're not best mates....so I guess Mr Tucker......for now anyway." Answered Malcolm stiffly. 

"That's fine. You may call me John. If you wish.  
This first appointment is really an information gathering exercise. To help me learn a little about you, and your history. So that I can evaluate how best to help you. It's an important part of the process. And it's the reason I don't book times. It takes as long as it takes Mr Tucker. You're not on the clock, okay?" 

"Okay." Malcolm swallowed thickly. 

"I realise what a huge step it is sometimes, just to get through that door." 

"Fucking right!" Malcolm breathed. "Listen, sorry Doc, but I tend to swear a lot....it's nothing personal, I just do.....hope that's okay?" 

"It fine!" He smiled reassuringly. "It makes no odds to me, you express yourself to me as you would to anyone else.  
Now, normally people come to me because the feelings and issues they are struggling with are affecting their everyday lives, to the point where it's becoming difficult to function.  
I'm almost a last resort, for when you feel you are starting to observe yourself living your life, rather than ACTUALLY living it. Would you say that's fair?" 

"More than fair. It's fucking up my entire existance and my relationship with Sam.....and I can't fucking lose her.....because.....well, because." He said, glancing as Sam as he spoke, she gave his hand a little reassuring squeeze. "Without her I wouldn't be fucking well sitting here anyway." 

"Good. Well. You've taken the first step......the hardest step. Seeking professional help is no doddle.....it's bloody difficult. But you've managed to come this far. 

I don't look at my patients as a diagnosis Mr Tucker. That's not how it works. You're not going to leave here with a tablet and a label.  
Every person is unique. You are here because, for whatever reason, you are in pain and you need my help.  
The only person who can tell your story is you.  
YOU are the only expert on YOUR life. Not me.  
I'm not here to judge you, or tell you how screwed up I think you are, I'm here to listen, and to become hopefully the _next_ best expert on your life. 

So.......feel confident. 

I don't know you. 

_You_ know you. 

It's your story, and what you chose to share with me will help me to gradually know you better. 

With that in mind, I'd like to ask you some initial general questions if I may?" 

"Go ahead, fire away." He responded, quietly. 

_"I'd like ask you what you hope to accomplish by coming to therapy?"_

Malcolm considered for a moment. 

"I wanna stop punishing myself, and thinking I need to be punished, for something over which I had no control. 

I keep thinking its my fucking fault you see. What happened. I guess I was really bad. And I don't really deserve anything, like love, happiness, or forgiveness.......unless permission for it is granted by someone other than myself.  
Sam informs me that's not right.  
But no one has told me that before.......my ex certainly didn't. If anything. She exploited it, but it was okay......I thought. I accepted it. Always have. So I'm finding it tough to get my head around.  
So, yeah.....that's what I want." 

Beside him, Sam was having trouble controlling her bottom lip. A great sadness at his words welled up in her throat, and threatened to burst forth. She struggled valiantly against it. 

Mr Faversham jotted down a few notes.

_"And would you like things to be different at the end of the therapy?"_

"Fuck yeah. I want my fucking life back. I want to take back what was taken from me." 

More scribbled notes. 

_"What has happened in your life recently, that's bought you here? How long has it been happening and how has it affected you, do you think?"_

"Sam's happened. Simple as that." He replied honestly. Glancing across at her again. 

_"And that's made you come to this decision? To seek professional help I mean?"_

Leaving his desk, he bought some water and glasses, which he proceeded to pour and hand round. 

"Yeah. The stuff's always been there.....it's just that I can't deal with it anymore....I'm a fucking mess. And I have a high powered job, and a high profile....and I can't keep all the balls in the air any longer......I guess." Malcolm gave a resigned shrug. 

_"And how has that manifested itself?"_ He asked, taking a sip of water. 

"You name it.......Nightmares.....Sam'll have to tell you about them, if you want.  
Fucking bag of nerves all the time. Emotions like a sodding spotty teenage girl. Shaking, crying, allowing myself to become so fucking angry I want to smash stuff. Can't fucking eat properly. Don't sleep. Flashbacks.....it's bloody ludicrous. I'm just a pathetic Jessie needy fucker. I should be ashamed of myself." 

A single tear spilled out from his left eye, rolled down his cheek. 

He brushed it away angrily. 

Yes, he was fucking angry. 

Livid in fact. 

Mr Faversham made no comment but continued to write. 

_"And have you found anything to help you feel better?"_

"Recently? Yeah. Sam's been teaching me how to relax, meditate. She gives me a massage.  
Empties my mind. Focus on sensory stuff. That's magic. It calms me. Makes me feel better. Sex helps too.....or rather feeling close generally.  
Not had a whole lot of that......but now I have......and it's great.......she's great." He ended lamely. 

Another nervous glance to his side. 

_"Have you ever taken medication to help with your problems?"_

"Yeah. For a bit. Antidepressants. After my divorce." 

_"And did you find them beneficial?"_

"No. After a while I read they were addictive....you could get to rely on them.....so I flushed the fucking lot. Didn't go back." 

_"And was that from your GP?"_

"Yeah. Useless cunt." 

_"Do you know what they were?"_

"Yeah....I bought the prescription. Sam said you'd wanna know." 

"Good. Well I've got the form you filled in. There's a deal of boring insurance bumph for you to read. A statement of my privacy policy, and your rights and responsibilities while you're here.  
I'd like to end it there, for today." 

"What? Is that it?" Malcolm sat forwards suddenly, as if he'd been somehow let off the hook 

"For now, yes. What I'd like to talk to you about is a plan of action. I would like, if you're willing, to meet again at least once or twice a week. If you can manage it. For the foreseeable future. On a regular basis. Sam may accompany you, if you wish, or if and when you feel more confident, you may come alone.  
Gradually we'll discuss things and I'll ask you more questions, and, hopefully you can tell me more about yourself and your history.  
I will get to know you better, and you will, I hope, feel more comfortable talking to me and more freely express yourself and what is important to you.  
Ultimately I want you to feel listened to, and appreciate the time spent here as a chance to explore new ways of being, and coping. Is that acceptable to you ?" 

"Yeah! Yeah, it is. Thanks Doc." 

The three rose and shook hands cordially. 

Malcolm let out huge gasping puffs of air when he reached the street. 

His relief was palpable. 

It was a false feeling in a way, because Sam knew that as yet he'd not delved anywhere near the root of his troubles. But it was a start. 

For Malcolm it was momentous. 

The road was travelled, the step taken. 

Next time, he'd know more of what to expect. 

Be prepared. 

Fuck! But he was so tired, energy drained from him. Leeching away like a dynamo when you stop pedalling. 

"So proud of you Malcolm. You did so well in there. Unbelievably well." 

"Fucking shitting bricks. The whole time. Feel okay now though. Just need a kip." 

"Let's go home. You can nap while I get the dinner on. It's begun Malcolm. It's gonna be a hell of a long journey. But you've got me, and I've got you. As long as you remember that.....okay?" 

"Fuck, yeah. Fucking love you." His arm snaked around her as they walked back to the car.

Charon had exacted his payment. He was on his way.


	20. Crossing the Styx.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm has found a way to prepare himself before each therapy session......
> 
> Swimming.......
> 
> His therapist is also learning more about his patient, and the key to success is to get Malcolm to relax......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as it can be this is as realistic as I can make it within the confines of a story.
> 
> Of course it is not a real situation, it's fiction, but hopefully it rings true enough.

CHAPTER TWENTY.  
CROSSING THE STYX.

 

Twice a week.  
A fucking ordeal.  
And he hadn't said anything yet. 

Not really.  
Talked about his mam a bit. 

Talked about school.  
His da.  
Nancy.

For Sam it was a little like taking a dog to the vet.  
Dragging the animal in on the leash.  
Tail between its legs. Big wide eyes looking up in silent plea.  
Knowing something unpleasant was going to happen.  
The virtual cone of shame.

Without Sam he would never have got through the door each time. Especially at first.  
He avoided most of the more pointed questions, making a glib joke or changing the subject.  
Always holding something back.  
The big reveal.  
Just couldn't quite bring himself to do it. 

Sitting across the desk from Faversham was too formal.  
Too clinical.  
Malcolm fidgeted and squirmed. 

Trying the couch made it easier somehow.......  
Lying down. Hands clasped protectively over his midriff. 

Somehow he'd expected there to be a couch.....isn't that what psychiatrists always had? 

Taking on board Sam's successes with sensory stimulation, Faversham tried lighting candles. Five or ten minutes before Malcolm arrived.  
To give a pleasant scent.

He quickly discovered his patient preferred the blinds partially down, the room in a muted half light. It relaxed him more than the sterile starkness of the surroundings. 

Closing his eyes was better too.  
Shutting out the room, focussing on the smells....especially if it was something that reminded him of Sam.  
Centring himself.

Then he didn't have to look straight into the eyes that looked searchingly into his.  
Somehow he found he couldn't meet them, not whilst talking about subjects like his mother, and how she struggled to hold everything together for himself and his sister. His glance would invariably be on his own hands, or his knees, or on the carpet, or the fixed point just behind Faversham's head that he could focus on. 

Too intimate, too personal.

Detaching himself worked better.

No blindfold though. 

It had been just a suggestion, other patients had found it easier to speak as if from behind a mask, hidden from view, protected. 

Nope.

Not Malcolm.

His reaction was strong and immediate. 

Struggled with that even with Sam he'd managed to choke out during one session........got quite upset, when he recounted how she'd first put that flight mask around his head in preparation for his first massage.  
Although she had no idea at the time of course.  
What panic had ensued.  
With her he'd somehow managed to endure it and switch himself off. Here at the clinic, it was impossible. 

This was the battle.

Managing to get Malcolm to relax enough that he could even say anything.  
So wired, and uptight.  
Chewing his fingers, or his nails. Biting his lip. Glancing frequently at Sam for support, as she smiled encouragingly, or touched his hand. 

oOo

Then a breakthrough. 

A victory of sorts. 

His newest and most profound discovery. 

Swimming. 

Going into the sea had sparked it. 

The way he'd felt invigorated, cleansed. 

So, on appointment days he began going off to the baths.  
Very early. 

Pool practically empty. 

Swim shorts on, goggles on and earplugs in. 

Ploughing up to the deep end. A tumble turn, push off and back again. Front crawl.  
His long arms and legs cutting him smoothly through the water.

Detached and in a zone all of his own creation.  
Bubbles and the muffled sound of his own breathing, the rush of the water passed his face was all there was. 

Face to the side.  
Breathe.  
Head down. Repeat. 

Strong, determined strokes. 

It had been his own idea. Sam didn't come with him. She decided right from the start that this would be his thing. 

His preparation.  
A morning swim on clinic days, or other days if he needed it.  
He would give her a morning kiss, then take himself off as soon as the pool opened.  
Swim for half an hour, maybe more. 

Shower, dress, then go into work. 

He would arrive calmer, ready for the day, but more importantly, ready for his twice weekly lunchtime appointment.  
It became a comforting ritual. 

The last thing Malcolm wanted, and the thing he was most afraid of was that his work would suffer. That he would somehow no longer be up to the task.  
He needed to reassure himself that he was still on top of his game.  
Not easy whist undergoing Therapy. 

In reality nary a soul was any the wiser. 

The fact that most Tuesday's and Thursday's, barring catastrophe, he took a two hour lunch break, passed everyone by. 

Considering he rarely, if ever, left on time at the end of the working day, and was, without fail, the first person in each morning, he didn't feel particularly guilty about taking the time.  
Hell! Sometimes he didn't leave at all.  
He was owed! More fucking lunch breaks than he cared to remember. 

Sam was very strict with him about his appointments.  
Sometimes his instinct was to wheedle himself out of them, not go. 

But she would be there, in his office at half past twelve, with his jacket in her hand.  
No excuses. 

Once or twice he was prevented from attending by yet another governmental shitstorm, but Sam would be on the phone, rebooking the date, explaining the situation.  
Faversham knew Malcolm's job was not your average nine to five. 

Fuck.....and anyway.......he was paying the bugger enough....... to see him privately. 

Sometimes shit just hit the fan, and a blow out just couldn't be avoided. 

But for the most part......

.........he went. And when he went......Sam went.

No one asked.....why or where. No one really noticed. 

He was still the main man.  
Nothing slipped.

No one any the wiser. Only perhaps Julius who guessed there was a valid reason for his regular disappearances.  
But he said nothing.

 

If 'Malc' was needed and he wasn't yet returned, then Lord Nicholson went to his competent underling.  
Jamie was well enough qualified to hold the fort.  
Empires were not going to fall, wars be declared, governments collapse......for want of Malcolm Tucker's presence in that specific hour. 

oOo

Although Malcolm had divulged very little of consequence as yet, just the talking and the relaxing about talking was helping him.

He didn't see it at first.  
Hated every moment.

But it was there. 

Could only do it if Sam was with him and he could feel her close, or hold her hand. 

There was, however, a definite and gradual thawing.

Many times he left the session feeling he'd left out something very important.  
The initial questions had been channelled towards his early years, and memories. Something he could cope with and answer honestly, and feel like he was making progress. 

Sometimes he would be able to happily continue the next time, where he left off the time before.  
Other days, he would go back over the same ground again.  
Barriers so long in the building were difficult to penetrate.

"Let's leave that aside for a bit now Malcolm. I'd like to jump forward and for you to tell me a little more about your marriage and your subsequent divorce. Do you feel that your situation contributed to that breakdown?" 

Fuck, but here was something he could talk about.  
Sam knew already.  
She sat beside him, impassive, as he blurted it all out.

"This is good Mr Tucker. We've achieved a great deal today. All helping me to understand you better. I can see what a controlling relationship it was, and how you allowed that control. That you felt at the time, that was how it should be, that you deserved it. I now know more about your thought processes. How you reached the point at which you're at now. I think that's enough for today." 

"Thanks Doc!" 

A gambit of feelings alternately washed through his patient that day. Talking about his ex again had been emotional certainly, but he felt a huge sense of relief. 

At other times, on leaving the clinic he'd felt anything from peaceful, horrified, anxious and hopeful, or a combination of all those things at once. He'd communicated as much to the 'doc'.

"Get used to these feelings Mr Tucker. Psychotherapy is an experience unlike any other in this world. It is powerful, but it can also be bloody scary and intimidating. Most people who try it, end up liking it......but, not all." 

"Can't see myself ever being in that camp!" Malcolm admitted with a shrug. "More a necessary evil I'd say. But I feel good about today.....honestly. Thanks." 

The two men shook hands. 

"Why not try coming alone next time? See how you do without Miss Cassidy?"

Malcolm hesitated.

"Dunno....." He replied doubtfully. "I'll think about it." 

If he was brutally honest, Faversham felt that Sam's presence was actually holding Malcolm back, he felt that he was frightened to really let go with her sitting beside him, his shame and embarrassment all the more strong, because he didn't want her to see it, see him at his very lowest and most vulnerable, to know the truth.  
But if she was the only reason for him coming at all, then he would happily accept it. 

Because he recognised that Malcolm was a complicated man with deep seated problems.  
Only here because of her love and strength. Which bought out his own.  
He had rarely seen such strength, in either party. 

To hold everything in as long as he had, without suffering complete mental collapse or a breakdown, was nothing short of a miracle. 

Yet, how to make the breakthrough? 

How to find a way to bring it to the fore? Without damaging the man even more in the process?

It was most certainly a challenging case. 

One that must be most carefully handled. 

oOo

Back at the office, Malcolm shut his door and glanced briefly at his emails. 

After this session he felt lighter. Felt that he'd actually made some progress. 

His marriage had been a solid ball of fuck, and he'd been able to speak about it all, rationally.  
With little or no wasted emotion. 

Sam looked pleased with him, he thought, and that meant so much, he looked to her constantly for affirmation that he'd 'done good'. 

The afternoon passed without major incident.  
In fact Nicola had been interviewed by Evan Davies on the radio, and actually acquitted herself quite well. As a junior, but up and coming minister, she managed to answer his questions quite satisfactorily.  
Malcolm was content. 

Sam bought in his afternoon tea. 

"Fancy going out to dinner?" 

"Oooo!" She smiled. "You taking me on a date Mr Tucker?" 

"Yeah! Somewhere posh!" 

As she set down his cup, he pulled her into his lap. Kissing her full on the mouth, then down her throat and neck most provocatively. 

She gasped against him.

Julius walked in.

"FUCKING KNOCK!!! " They both chorused in unison.


	21. Escape from Hades.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something triggers Malcolm's memories and everything he's been through comes pouring out of him......it's horrific to watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *PLEASE BE AWARE OF CERTAIN TRIGGERS AND THE EXPLICIT AND POSSIBLY CONTROVERSIAL NATURE OF THIS CHAPTER. *
> 
> *THE ARCHIVE WARNINGS ARE CHANGED FOR THIS CHAPTER*
> 
> *IT COVERS THE SUBJECT OF CHILD ABUSE AND IS NOT FOR THE FAINT HEARTED.*
> 
> I thought very long and hard about this chapter. How I was going to write it. IF I was going to write it. 
> 
> Then I read an article on the Internet, and I decided to go ahead. 
> 
>  
> 
> http://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2016/mar/08/catholic-priest-child-sex-abuse-ebensburg-pennsylvania 
> 
> Above is a link to the original article. 
> 
>  
> 
> It is not pretty reading. It is not sweet and schmaltzy. 
> 
> It is what it is. 
> 
> It happens. It has happened. 
> 
> Stories of this nature have come to the fore recently, some going back decades.  
> It is profoundly affecting. Tragically sad, and blights lives. 
> 
> I hope I've written it in a way that is truthful, and honest. 
> 
> It isn't an easy subject to write about, but I somehow felt I wanted to. I don't really know why, but somehow it just seemed that I should.
> 
> I hope I don't offend anyone, that is not what I set out to do.

 CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.  
ESCAPE FROM HADES.

A shaft of bright sunlight. Dancing beams. 

Motes of dust hanging, suspended in the air. 

Cherubim and seraphim. 

Everything was so peaceful. Tranquil. Quiet. 

Sinking down and down. 

A long narrow tunnel, dazzling white light.

Fuck, it's actually true. Going to heaven......and not to Hell in a handcart. 

Yet he never really believed it, not really. Mumbo jumbo. 

Somewhere he could hear voices, urgent, insistent voices. But they were far away. Barely audible. 

Just a glorious feeling of sliding down into oblivion. 

No cares, no pain, all vanished away. 

Enveloped in a warm glow of yellow light. 

oOo

Celestial. 

_"Bless me Father, for I have sinned.......it's been one week since my last confession...."_

A scent of wax polish, and hymn books in the vestry. A friendly smell. 

One scabby knee. Grey gabardine shorts, elastic snake belt. White cotton shirt with the collar carefully turned.  
Pristine. Scrubbed on a washboard in the scullery by his mother's raw hands. 

Angelic boy. 

A mop of brown curls. 

Starched surplice, white as snow. Over the top of his clothes.  
Smelling strongly of Omo.  
Scuffed brown shoes, polished for the occasion with a piece of rag and a saucer of milk. Hand knitted socks, always bunched around his ankles. 

Such an affectionate, loving child. Liking his mam's warm cuddles, and butterfly kisses. 

_"Mmmmm! My darling boy......you're so scrumptious, I could eat you all up!"_

Oaken door, a velvet curtain over the top lattice. The disembodied voice from the other side. 

So warm. So forgiving. The power to absolve. 

"Why were you belted this time, my son, why were you punished?" 

"Cheeky to my mam, Father." 

"Such a bad child. You must strive to be good or you will burn in Hell's fire. Recite three Hail Mary's."

A small pile of sawdust by the pew, woodworm that gnawed by day and by night. Mice in the organ pipes. A slow and inexorable decay. 

Wax candles, tall and yellow. Each flame a circle of brilliant light. A votive offering. 

To a merciful God. 

Heavenly. 

_"Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee....."_

Gentle hand stroking his poor sore backside. Stripes across it. Reddened where the leather almost broke the skin.  
Holding him close. Tenderly caressing between his legs. 

Felt good somehow. Someone cared. 

_"Blesséd art though amongst women, and blesséd is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus....."_

Such a little hand........

.............nails scrubbed clean with a wooden brush, skinned knuckles from an errant climbing of a fence, couldn't send him to church anything less than spotless........ 

..........free from the stain of mortal sin.......

........pressed against the front of the man's trousers, held there forcibly, as he stood, towering over him.

"That's right. Touch. Rub it there. Be a good boy. You'll be rewarded in heaven." 

Was this right? It didn't feel right. Assured that it was, but he must never tell. 

It was what he deserved. 

Because he was a bad boy.

And if he told a soul his retribution would be all the worse.  
Damned to eternity for his wickedness. 

He'd never seen a grown man's privates. Never even seen his own father's. 

The prick so heavy in his hand. Stroking it. Throbbing. As the man gasped and prayed above him. 

_"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners....."_

And he was surely the greatest sinner. 

Went to confession at least twice a week, and altar boy at Mass on Sunday's.  
He had to. 

Or else. 

Control. 

"You will be subordinate to my will." 

"Obey any command I give. Not question but accept. Do as you are told." 

The straining cock in his mouth. Big. Fat. A pulsing vein in the side. Hair on the balls. The crinkled skin of them.  
The salty taste as it was forced in and out. As he knelt there. On the stone floor. 

In supplication.

Taking it. Tasting it. 

Taking his punishment. Such a wicked boy. Yet he constantly tried so hard to be good. 

There was a certain smell, not of the man, although that was of carbolic.....

........but in the confessional, where he shut the door sometimes. Tried to conceal himself. Where he cried hot and lonely tears.......

..........of incense. 

"Do as you are told, boy." 

"If ever you tell a soul what transpires here, it will be the worse for you. For who would believe a boy who transgressed so frequently? "

This child whose father knew his son to be so thoroughly naughty? Defiant at every turn.  
Whose fierce eyes stared his parent down, with barely disguised contempt and pity.  
Or just incomprehension? 

By God he'd belt that fucking smirk right off his face. 

Trousers down, pants down, over the kitchen table. The vicious sting of each blow, loosing count in the end.  
Over and over again until his buttocks and thighs were on fire.  
"Say you're sorry......boy........"

Silence.

Biting his lip, forcing his tears to stay inside. Which just enraged his parent more.  
He wouldn't say it.  
Because he wasn't. Wasn't a bit sorry. 

For being a disappointment. 

For not being the son his father wanted. 

Who hated footy. Didn't like fighting. Or people who drank. Read books, liked writing stories, making things. 

A boy of his......acting like a fucking Fairy. Never! 

By all that was holy, he'd break that feeble faggot of a boy. 

And he would. 

Break him. 

Eventually. 

He could hold the tears in no longer. His mother weeping in the next room, to hear her only son suffer.  
Willing him to yield, and cry, submit himself, so it would stop.

Finally he gave way, when the pain became too much. When the blows stopped being individual, just one long scorching agony. 

"Sorry Da......I'm sorry......please. Please Da........"

Such a wilful child. 

Set free. 

Escaping, running past his mother, through the kitchen, and out, as fast as his little legs could carry him. Sixpence in his pocket, for the collection box. 

Pray for salvation. 

To Father O'Brien. 

Who soothed him. Kissed him on the mouth. Touched him so gently. Such a startling contrast. 

_"Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of mercy, our life, our sweetness and our hope....."_

That first time.  
Just like his father, but different. 

Trousers down, pants down, bent over the wooden vestry table......perhaps a little older now.  
Arse cheeks parted. 

Oh sweet lord! How he cried then! No holding back this time as he had for the thrashing.  
"God forgive me for all my sins!" 

Begging for mercy. 

"I'm so bad. So, so bad." 

Back arched in pain. Burning searing pain. 

Penetrated thus. Defiled. With a pleading incantation, a prayer for succour. 

_"To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve, to thee do we send up our sighs......"_

Hiding afterwards in their den. On the building site. Dirty tear stained face. Whole body trembling. The only place he could think of to hide. To get away. 

Only wee Jamie to comfort him. 

He didn't know. No one knew. Because he could never tell, on pain of death. Not a soul. 

How could he not go back? He had to be severely disciplined. It was necessary.  
So Father O'Brien told him.  
He needed to be punished, he would come back tomorrow to be punished again.  
The devil was in him. 

Submission his only salvation. 

Except he couldn't. He fought it. Until he realised it just made it worse, made it last longer. 

Just let it happen Malcolm......with Father O'Brien......with Her.......his ex.........let them have their way. 

Relinquish your own will to their mastery. Take it. Endure it. Embrace the exquisite suffering. 

Down in the tenement courtyard, to the spider filled outside lavvy.  
Newspaper for bog roll......wiping himself........horror......there was blood there. 

How could he hide it? Never never tell. 

How could he bear the shame? The stain of his own wickedness. 

He came to expect it.  
His penance.  
The hard cock pushing into him. Hands tied behind his back with a cincture. To stop him struggling. Rope marks on his wrists. Sometimes a stole fastened over his eyes. Blind and helpless. Lest he should witness the man's face as he took his pleasure. 

Darkness, only the smell of the incense. The wanton groans of the man behind him. 

_"Soul of Christ, make me holy, Body of Christ be my salvation...."_

A final thrust, the feeling of something trickling down his legs. Semen. His own warm piss. 

 

oOo

There were the voices again.

Calling his name. "Malcolm!" "Oh God!" 

A sense of fear in the tone, entreating him, imploring. 

Just let me be.....let me slip away. Where there is no more anguish. 

Spiralling upwards, the light fading somewhere behind him, being pulled back. 

Heart fluttering and gaining strength. Not to be worsted. 

A soothing hand on his brow......but he could still smell it........the incense. 

The consulting room. 

One moment he'd been speaking, the next.......Faversham so casually lighting the jos stick. 

_"Trying a new and pleasant aroma Malcolm, to help relax you."_

Like a lightening bolt. 

Heaving. Retching. Welling up. 

A bolus of sin. 

Head to the side. Propped on one elbow. 

Malcolm vomitted copiously. Spilling the contents of his stomach partly in a basin grabbed and held for him, partly onto the floor and his own clothes. 

Hands held over his mouth in a futile effort to prevent it. 

Spattering all and sundry. 

Until there was no more to come. 

Except green bile. The taste foul, and bitter as gall. 

A long string of drool. Which hung there. Like a snail trail from his chin. 

"MALCOLM! COME BACK!" 

He opened his eyes.

"What the fuck happened?" 

On the floor. How did he get here? 

He'd died......hadn't he? 

He was sure he had. 

No recollection, not for a few moments. 

Sam's terrified and tearful face, floating above him. 

Mr Faversham. With a power pack ready, medical bag..........in case.........

Then he began to recall. 

His appointment. Sitting in the chair. 

How it had all swept over him. The beam of sunlight, dust motes floating. 

_That smell._

Retching some more, stomach devoid of content now. No more to come. 

Yet still he gagged, fruitlessly. 

The effort to disgorge popping a blood vessel in the white of his eye. 

Straining to rid himself of the poison. 

Bathed in perspiration. Shirt soaked. Hair plastered against his head. 

Heart palpitating. Breathing erratic. Deathly white. Lips cyanosed. 

A full blown panic attack. Or some kind of convulsive seizure. A meltdown. A breakdown. 

Total. Complete. 

Brain freeze. 

Whatever it was, it was done. Over. 

He tried to sit up. 

Couldn't. So rested back down. 

Too confused to be embarrassed. Or ashamed. 

His shame. 

They knew his shame. 

Knew it for what it was. 

All he had borne on his broad shoulders, carried with him for forty odd years. 

From the age of eight. 

A canker. 

A weeping, suppurating sore. 

Sam was sobbing for him. Now he was sobbing for himself. Grieving for that little child. 

Whose innocence was stolen away. 

Sucking in great lungfuls of air. 

Staring wildly around him. 

"Sam!" Fumbling for her hand. 

"Help me!" 

"Get me up!" 

Staggering, stumbling backwards into the waiting chair. Legs that seemed incapable of supporting his weight. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then looking at it with disgust. 

Each side of him, one hand under each arm, they aided him. Sat him back. 

Sam's tender fingers smoothing his forehead. 

"Did I dream it?" He gasped. "Tell me! Or did I say it all out loud?" 

"You said it out loud Malcolm. Easy now. Easy!" 

A glass of water, held to his quivering lips with her trembling hand. 

"Little sips.......just little sips." She whispered softly. 

"I've pissed myself." He wailed, examining his own crotch in dismay. 

And he had, the dream mixing with the reality, the front of his trousers damp and darkly stained.

He gripped Sam's arms, entreating her in his misery. 

"Sam......I've wet myself........how did I........?" 

"Malcolm, it doesn't matter, you were unconscious. It's not your fault. Don't worry about it, okay?  
Just rest back. I've got you." 

"I've phoned an for an ambulance. They'll be here in a moment." The therapists anxious face. 

Malcolm's head snapped up. 

"What? Fuck......why? Why Doc.......why?" 

"Because I'm worried you may have had a small heart attack, and you need to be thoroughly checked over by the medics." 

Malcolm closed his eyes and leaned his head back into Sam's embrace.  
Falling limp as the paramedics arrived and began to examine him, take his blood pressure, his temperature.  
Shining a torch in his face. 

"Fuck it! Don't care what they do anymore." He whispered wearily. 

Not at any point did Sam release her vice like grip on his hand. 

She was NOT going to fucking lose him. Not now. 

NOT. FUCKING. NOW. 

No way. Wasn't happening.


	22. Go North, Malcolm.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is in A&E awaiting a diagnosis. 
> 
> Sam looks to friends and allies for help. 
> 
> An ominous rival is circling but Malcolm hasn't the strength to deal with it. 
> 
> The answer is to go North.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the angst of the last chapter this is really the calm down and the 'what happened next'.
> 
>  
> 
> Weegie is Glaswegian's own word for themselves or their city.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.  
GO NORTH MALCOLM. 

Lying on the trolley he looked small somehow.  
Vulnerable.  
Faversham had accompanied them. 

He and Sam waited patiently in A&E. 

Divested of his damp and vomit splattered clothing.  
A rather unattractive disposable gown with tape fastenings. 

Open at the chest. 

Malcolm Tucker lay meek and mild.  
Uncomplaining.  
No swearing, no ranting at his annoyance at being thus prodded and poked. 

ECG wires attached to pads on his chest.  
A wad of gauze stuck firmly with micropore at the crook of his arm, where a blood sample had been taken. 

Silent and watchful. 

His eyes darting from nurse to Doctor, from chart to machine, as it beeped out it's diagnosis.  
Assured and automated. 

Little red lines of peaks and troughs. 

Each one read like a book. 

Or a musical score...... 

.......Composed in the key of fuck. 

A feeble, accepting Malcolm. 

With no strength left to argue or rail. 

Only content if his hand were held by the beautiful woman standing beside him now. 

Her blanched and strained face looking down so lovingly at him. Heavy lidded. 

Fuck.....it made him feel so strange. 

He swallowed. 

"Fuck, I'm not gonna die, am I Doc?" He asked plaintively, his big wide eyes looking searchingly at the white coated man by his bedside. 

Two pools of pale liquid blue.

Pleading. 

So lost. 

Such sadness. 

"He wouldn't separate us, would He? Only I've felt such happiness?" 

Sam looked away hurriedly, lest he should see her brimming eyes. 

His hand remained clasped tightly in hers. Fingers interlocked. 

Another hour passed. 

Malcolm dozed. 

Exhausted beyond all comprehension. 

The Doctor returning. Looking reassuring. A cheery look rather than a 'prepare yourself for bad news' sympathetic look. 

All was well. 

Results through. 

Nothing on the heart monitor. Strong as an ox. Valves okay. Blood flow fine, no evidence of Myocardial Infarction. 

Blood count normal. 

Chest X-ray clear. 

Diagnosis? Acute vasovagal syncope. 

Brought on by extreme fear and severe emotional distress. 

Allowed to go home. 

Clean bill of health. 

Thank fuck. 

oOo

Faversham drove them.  
The least he could do, he said. Meet again when he was ready, and not before.  
No rush. 

Shoes and socks, his hospital gown with his jacket over his shoulders. 

Sam dropped the bag containing his clothes into the waste bin, as she helped him up the path and into his house.  
Somehow she didn't think he'd ever want to be wearing them again.....even when they were laundered and clean. 

Malcolm leaned on her heavily.  
Pale bare legs sticking out from beneath disposable baby blue reconstituted 'cotton feel' paper. 

Sam cut off his wristband, undressed him, washed him tenderly, to rid him of the stench of vomit, he stood or sat at her bidding, compliant, as she pulled a t shirt over his head and settled him into bed. 

Then went downstairs to fetch him a drink. 

She made it to his kitchen and put on the kettle before it came. 

A wave. 

It smashed into her like the force of a nuclear blast. 

Her hand went up to her mouth, clapped over it firmly. Other hand gripping the counter, knuckles white. Shoulders shaking convulsively.  
She wept silently, lest he should hear her. Eventually her knees gave out and she sank down. Sitting on the tiled floor. 

Her vision?  
His eyes......the sight of him failing.  
Fading right in front of her, as if he were melting away and there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it. 

The horror of his words as they tumbled out. 

Sobs broke from her that she couldn't hold back. Despite every effort. 

Actually thinking he was being snatched away from her.  
She was going to lose him. 

And he was everything........

_Everything._

Remaining where she was, fighting, mastering her emotion, until her tears subsided.  
Collecting herself, sniffing, blowing her nose, so he should not see. 

Splashing cold water onto her face. 

Making tea.

 _So very fucking British._

When she returned to the bedroom he was sleeping. 

Curled up. Worn out. 

But he stirred as she sat down on the edge of the bed. 

"That you Sam?" He asked brokenly. 

"Who else would it be?" She placed a kiss on the end of his nose. 

"You'll stay?" His eyes opened, and searched hers imploringly. 

"You try getting rid of me!" She replied. 

She stripped off her top clothes, down to bra and knickers, shunted him over and crawled beneath the covers beside him. Immediately he latched himself onto her, arms around her middle, head resting just below her ribs. His legs entangled with hers. 

"You won't leave......now you know?" His voice barely above a whisper. 

"Never! Fuck it all Malcolm, I thought I was going to lose you........it scared the living shit out of me, because I can't! I can't live without you." 

He nuzzled his face into her warm skin. 

"I'm glad you know." He murmured. 

"So am I! But it hurts to know the truth, that you went through all that, and you were so small, and innocent, and you've carried it in your head and your heart ever since. It was a terrible secret Malcolm, and a terrible thing to do to a child." Her hand began to stroke his head by way of comfort. 

The only sounds he made for several moments were little whimpers of relief, and sighs of gradual repose. 

"So fucking tired Sam. Long day." 

"Hush then. Rest. Sleep. I'll still be here." 

His only reply was long slow breaths as he slid down into the solace of slumber. 

oOo

Sam had been up for some time, although it was still early.  
Malcolm was still sleeping the sleep of the dead. 

Just a hump in the middle of the bed. Only his head and one foot visible.  
His breathing was deep and slow. A slight whistle through his nose. His hand clasping the place where she had recently lain.

No dreams had marred his slumber, not a twitch nor a disturbance.  
An Exocet missile strike wouldn't have woken him. 

In his kitchen, she made herself coffee, and checked her phone.  
There were several messages. 

Three from Jamie. 

Malcolm's own phone was on silent. She grimaced when she saw he had thirty odd texts and what's app's. 

Sam rung Jamie back. 

He answered immediately. 

"Sam! Thank Christ! Where the fuck is Malcolm?" 

"He's at home Jamie. And he won't be in today. It's know it's only Friday but you have to cover for him, you need to have his back Jamie. I don't care what you come up with but make it good. Okay?" 

"Fucking hell Sam. This is a bad time. Fucking Steve Fleming is circulating."

"Oh hell!" Sam knew him of old, smarmy, clever and after Malcolm's position. 

"You know what he's like. He will take advantage of Malcolm's absence if he can." 

"Jamie, there's nothing I can do. He's just simply not up to it. He ended up in hospital yesterday afternoon. He's still in bed now." 

Silence. 

"Hospital? What the fuck happened?" 

"He collapsed. At the clinic." Her voice cracked unexpectedly, actually explaining it to another human being affected her profoundly, made it horribly real. 

"Fucking hell! Sam.....love......hen.......are you alright?" 

Sam sniffled, and tried to quell the tears. 

"Yeah. I'm okay. But he needs time Jamie, he needs to rest. He's exhausted." 

It went quiet on the other end of the line for a few moments. 

Then the familiar burr was back. 

Jamie McDonald was in the mode of the Jamie McDonald of the day of the hostage siege.  
Thinking on his feet, having the back of his best friend. 

"Alright Sam, here's what I think. Ring my fucking sister-in-law, get yourselves up to Weegie for the weekend. Book a coupla train tickets......Euston, Virgin always have seats going.....fucking get him up there.  
I'll come up with a story here, try to do a hatchet job on Fleming. You leave him to me. I'll follow on and meet you. I'll arrange a meeting with some SNP people, do some spin with some Entente Cordiale for Tom. 'Our friends over the border' that sort of thing. Except I'll go to the meeting instead of him. You'll have to leave him with Nancy and come as my PA.....otherwise it won't look legit.  
Fuck, this is the shittest timing ever! But it can't be helped.  
I'll ring brother Mac, tell him to tell Nancy you're coming. She wanted to help her brother.....well now she can!" 

"Jamie......thanks for this......."

"Fuck! Nae problem. Just get him up there and make him take it easy. And don't fucking worry him too much about all this. It'll keep. Make the excuse and leave him with Nance. She'll see him right." 

Sam hung up, then booked the tickets. 

Malcolm was stirring by the time she'd finished. 

"Hi sweetie. You hungry? I've made breakfast?" Malcolm yawned, and looked sheepish. 

"Not really." He replied. "Still feel a bit wobbly." 

"Well, I think you should get yourself up slowly, have a proper shower. Then we are going away for the weekend." 

"Are we?" His eyes narrowed slightly. 

"Yes. You need to get right away, and you need to rest. So we are going to your sister's." 

"Fuck! Really? When was this decided?" He seemed resigned, and not inclined to argue. 

"It was decided by me. Just now." 

Malcolm shrugged. 

"Can I have a hug?" He asked, simply. 

"Of course you may! Willingly! Come here!" She held her arms out and he walked into them with a grateful sigh. 

After a few moments he pulled back. 

"I feel weird." He remarked. 

"In what way?" Her fingers touched his cheek gently. 

"Dunno. Just lightheaded, and ..........odd........can't describe it. Bit scared.....like butterflies in my stomach....that sort of feeling." 

"Let's get some food inside you.....you don't feel sick do you?" He led him from the bedroom.

"Nah.....not exactly, a bit empty perhaps, but not sick.......just......different." 

oOo

Within a little over an hour, they were boarding their train at Euston station. 

Settled into their seats, Malcolm turned to her, and gave a slight smile. 

"Fucking love you." He whispered. 

"Fucking love you too." She replied, reaching for his hand. 

"It's all good isn't it? What happened.......I mean, you're okay with it?" 

She looked at him closely. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, it hasn't made a difference to how you feel.....about me?" He searched her face, looking for reassurance.

"Well, it's made me love you all the more. If that's what you mean.  
It's made me realise how lucky I am to have you, and when I thought for a moment yesterday I was going to lose you, I knew for certain, just how much you mean to me. Does that answer your question?" 

Malcolm's eyes watered, he leaned his head down against her shoulder and sniffed. 

"Fuck! Yeah! As long as you still want me......" 

The train drew away from the platform. 

"More than ever Malcolm. More than ever."


	23. Hameldaeme.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is at his sister's house in Glasgow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hameldaeme is the Glaswegian word for Home. 
> 
>  
> 
> The events of the publishing of the Crime Figures by DoSAC are in Episode 7 of series Three. 
> 
> I am moving towards the events of the show itself. As Steve Fleming rears his ugly head at Malcolm's most vulnerable time.
> 
>  
> 
> The painting is by Joan Eardley. Who is famous for her depictions of Glasgow street children. She is an artist I admire greatly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.  
HAMELDAEME. 

 

'Mac' McDonald was standing on the platform at Glasgow Central waiting for his brother-in-law to arrive. 

The shock when he finally spotted him was difficult to conceal. 

Malcolm looked liked an old man. Bent. Grey of hue. Face pinched and gaunt.  
The two men hugged warmly and he kissed Sam on both cheeks.  
Mac towered over her, and was even inches taller than Malcolm himself. 

"Glad to finally meet you hen!" He smiled. 

"Come on, wee man!" He said, turning back to Malcolm, and taking his bag from his hand.  
"Let's get you hame. Nancy's waiting on us and frettin' !"

Nancy rushed forwards as they entered the hallway.  
Enveloping her brother in a bear hug. His arms came around her back and he squeezed her into him.  
She held him tight in return, rocking him from side to side, not releasing him.  
Humming into his chest, her eyes tight shut, relishing the feel of him close to her. 

"So glad you came." She whispered, her eyes brimming, when she finally allowed him free. 

"Get kettle on, sis. I need a brew, and a rest." He smiled, trying to look as engaged as possible, although every nerve and fibre screamed for more sleep.  
She led him into the living room where he plonked himself down with a puff and closed his eyes. 

The journey had exhausted him. 

"You rest there a bit, I'll bring in the tea in a mo....." 

Nancy went back into the kitchen. Where she immediately burst into tears. 

"What's happened to him?" She wept, hanging onto Sam's neck. 

"I can't tell you, it has to come from him. He collapsed at the clinic. But, please Nancy, please don't push him. Yesterday was awful, he's completely wrung out, in fact he should probably go to bed." 

"I won't, I promise. Clinic? What clinic? How long are you staying?" 

"The place where he's been going for therapy.......and it depends.....Jamie's coming later......it's his excuse to get Malc up here......work......I've got to meet him shortly, go to a meeting. As Malc's PA. I've told him about it, but I don't think he's really taken it in."

"He's been having therapy?? Jamie's coming? God....this is too much to take in!" 

"Yeah, for a little while now, since after you came down, and he read your letter. I'm meeting up with Jamie in an hour or so, we've got a meeting with some SNP delegates, it's a press thing, for Tom.....Jamie floated it to him, and he went with it.....a bit of friendly PR......it's meant to be Malcolm going, but he's going to be 'unavoidably detained' and Jamie and I are going instead."

"How long will you be? Will Jamie pop in?" 

"No idea on both counts. Not too long I hope. Jamie might come and say hi before he goes back to London......but he can't be away too long, there's some shenanigans afoot......Steve Fleming is circling and he's after Malcolm's job.  
Some Crime Figures have appeared in the press, it's alleged they've been falsified, it happened last week through DoSAC and Malcolm had a set to with Oliver Reeder over an email that he sent to the wrong person.  
Fleming is trying to pin it on Malcolm, and Jamie doesn't want to be away from Number Ten in case it all blows up."

"God! I hate politics! Everyone stabbing everyone in the back!" 

"It's worse than that I'm afraid. I heard on the jungle drums that Lord Nicholson is involved. I had thought him an ally. But it seems he might be a snake in the grass. But Malcolm can't cope with that right now. After yesterday he needs a couple of days rest."

At that second, Sam's mobile trilled. 

"It's Jamie. Listen, Nancy.....I have to go. I know you'll look after him. But please don't say anything about what happened yesterday......let him tell you in his own time if he wants to.....it's hard for him.....okay?" 

"Okay. I understand. MAC! Can you drop Sam into Town?" Nancy called to her husband. 

oOo

"How is he?" 

Jamie dropped a kiss on Sam's cheek as they met. 

"Fucking awful! He's completely wrung out. I'm hoping if he has the weekend, he'll be okay to come back Monday."

"Fucking shit timing. Really is! That ballsack Fleming is gunning for him big time. I don't even know if there's anything I can do to stop it. Fuck it all Sam......much as I'd like to be, I'm not Malc! I don't have his kudos, his sway, I don't have Tom's ear, or the friends in the press core that Malc has ."

"I know Jamie. Just do what you can yeah? You can't do more. I can't believe this is all happening now. This could finish him......you realise that?" 

"Fuck yeah. Course! Fleming is out to royally fuck him up the arse. What the fuck happened yesterday anyway?"

Sam winced at his words. 

"He collapsed. Oh God! Jamie it was horrible." Her face crumpled suddenly. 

"Hey! Hey! Hun! It's okay! C'mere!" He pulled her into him comfortingly. 

"I thought he was a goner......I really did. His eyes.....Jamie.....his eyes.....I can't.....I can't even....." 

"It's alright love! He's stronger than you think! Take more than that to finish him off!" 

"It's left him weak and tired though. He slept for hours when we came home and all night too. He was still weary this morning. I hate seeing him like that. It's like someone's pulled the stopper out of him." 

"He'll recover! And don't tell me why it happened. I don't want to know. If he tells me, fine. But if not that's fine too. Now! Come on.....dry your eyes! Stiff upper lip!! We'd better get to this meeting, or we'll all be out of a fucking job!" 

oOo

Entering the living room late in the afternoon when their meeting was concluded, Sam stopped dead in her tracks in the doorway. 

Nancy and Malcolm. 

Brother and sister. 

Malcolm was seated slumped on the sofa, his legs out in front of him, feet flat on the floor, knees wide apart.  
Reclining back into the cushions.  
Nancy was lying sideways next to him, with her legs curled under her, her arms tightly around his middle, hands clasped together just above his hip.  
Her head rested on his chest just under his neck. His, inclined so that his chin was against the top of her head.  
One arm under her, right around her back, his fingers splayed on her shoulder. His other arm across her body, his hand clutching a fistful of her jumper. 

Nancy's eyes were closed, her face streaked with dried tears, lids swollen and red. Malcolm was snoring gently, his mouth open slightly. Jaw slack with weariness. 

Sam watched them. 

They looked like two children. 

The two children they once were. Babes in the Wood. 

Comforting each other. The only way they knew how. 

Mac came behind Sam, and put a hand on her shoulder. 

"I think those two have finally found some peace." He whispered. "Been a long time coming."

"Thank god!" She breathed. 

oOo

The evening meal was a muted affair.  
Jamie had caught the first train he could back to London. Hadn't time to stop by. 

Mac was disappointed at not seeing his brother.  
Malcolm's niece and nephew chatted to their uncle animatedly, but his answers were brief and cursory. He hadn't the energy for much else. 

By eight in the evening his head was drooping and he was yawning cavernously. 

"I'm away to ma bed." He announced, as if to the world in general. 

He dropped a kiss on his sister's forehead, and touched Sam's hand gently. 

"You want me to come?" She asked, looking up at him.

"Nah. You stay and chat. I'll be right." He shuffled off towards the stairs. Ruffling his hair with one hand abstractly. 

They all watched him go, Nancy biting her trembling lip, trying to hide her emotion, her eyes on his retreating back. 

"Oh Sam!" She breathed, once he was out of earshot. 

"He'll be okay. He's got me, and all of you." She glanced round the room. "We love him. He'll make it. The healing process has begun. He WILL be alright." She nodded determinedly. 

"Ever since he told me......I just can't take it in. Can't stop crying. Every time I think about him back then. Every single day. What was in his head. All the times I heard him crying. Occasionally we'd both been whacked for some pathetic misdemeanour and I'd sneak in to his little room, crawl into bed with him, because I felt sorry for myself. And he'd cuddle me. We'd cry together.  
But, oh Sam.......it wasn't Da who'd made him cry like that.....he'd have been to confession......again.......and again.......and again........oh God!" She wept anew. 

Sam took her hand and held it. 

"You know what I keep thinking, don't you.....?"

Nancy raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Well think about it Nance, he can't have been the only one can he? How many others were there? And is the bastard still alive? That's what I want to know. Because if he is.....then he should be fucking hung from the yardarm! He was a priest for fucks sake. In a position of trust and authority. What he's done is heinous! It should be investigated." 

Mac gave a groan.

"Shit.....and then what? A trial, other people coming forward, the shame.......their shame.....like Malc......I bet hardly anyone would have said anything. Just like him. All this time......"

"I swear to God though.....I went to church every Sunday too. All the kids in our blocks did. And half the parents. I never saw anything, never would have guessed, or even thought......." Nancy remarked. 

"But you were a kid Nance, and eighteen months younger than Malcolm. A child, an innocent like he was.....you wouldn't be looking for anything like that. You wouldn't even have known anything like that existed."

"We all thought Father O'Brien was lovely. Kind, benevolent. GOD!!!" She exploded.

"I feel SO FUCKING LIVID! Like I'm gonna burst!" She wiped her face viciously. "It's just too horrific to even contemplate.....and it happened to my brother......look......look Sam.....look at this....."

She bent down and picked up an old silver photo frame. Thrusting it into Sam's hands angrily. 

A black and white image of two little urchins. 

Both adorable. 

Standing in what looked like a yard. 

A girl, the smaller by a few inches, in a gingham pinafore, hair in bunches tied with ribbons. Ankle socks and sandals.  
The boy, standing beside her, in short trousers, thin legs, knobbly knees, a sleeveless fair isle pullover.  
One pale arm at his side, the other around his sibling's shoulder.  
A tousled mop of lustrous curls. Both children grinning, but there was something there behind the eyes of the little boy.  
Both Nancy and Sam could see it.  
An air of unsurety.  
The stance a little odd, toes pointing inwards slightly, a little too stiff in the pose, the smile uncertain. Tentative. Fixed. 

"See that? That's us......me and Malc.........he would have been nine or so.....me about seven and a bit......and it had started then Sam.......in that picture......at that moment.......it had already happened........look at him!  
Just look at my dearest brother......." A sob broke from her, and her husband hugged her tight. 

"All those years Mac......all those fucking years!" She wept. 

oOo

Sam lifted back the coverlet gently, crawling into bed, trying not to disturb the sleeper. 

His eyes opened languidly. 

"Sam?" He croaked.

"What was that?" She replied, pushing the cover back from him slightly. He was hot and sweaty, his brow flushed. 

"Throat hurts." He murmured. 

She felt under his chin, along his jawline. 

"Your glands are swollen. You're probably gonna get a cold, or flu, or tonsillitis or something. Because your immune system is shot to pieces." 

She fetched him some Beechams and a glass of water. 

"Here, take these. They'll help." He accepted them without comment. 

"Cuddle me Sam. I need it." He whispered. 

"What? And you all clammy and sniffly?" 

He looked at her, as if bereft. 

"Oh, come here.......close as you can! As if I care! I'm only kidding you. You'll feel better the more you rest." 

"Why do I feel so fucking tired? I've got not an ounce of energy in me!" He moaned. 

"Because of all the stress you've been subjected to. Your body can't take any more. You've reached breaking point. But.....Malcolm.....you'll be okay. You'll fight it, and your body will recover and you'll feel strong again. You'll mend, and heal. But you must keep seeing Faversham. At least for a bit. You need it, it's important and he'll be able to help you move on. Okay?"

She held him in her arms, and he whimpered with the need of feeling her there.  
Simply that. 

"I'm so glad you know." He muttered. 

He'd said it to her the night before, and she knew what it meant to him.


	24. Man Flu.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm has gone down with a cold. 
> 
> But he's not THAT ill! 
> 
> There is some banter between brother and sister and niece and nephew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little lighter chapter after so much pain. 
> 
> Malcolm is recovering despite his runny nose! 
> 
> Taboo is a word game, which I'm not sure is available in the US or elsewhere, but is well known in the UK.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.  
MAN FLU. 

By morning it was clear that Malcolm had gone down with a cold.  
Nothing more exciting than that. 

A common cold. 

His nose was bunged up, he had a sore throat, and he felt like shit. 

Pretty standard really. 

He was awake early. Having been in bed since eight the previous evening.......

..........sniffles or no sniffles, he was feeling randy. 

Sam woke to find a hard prick pressed against her backside, and she turned her head to frown at him.

"I thought you were too poorly?" She remarked. 

He just waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. 

"Well you can't be that ill!" She giggled as she felt his hands wandering and a slight growl in his throat. 

"Shhh!" he whispered. "The kids are in the room next door.......we've got to be silent, no screaming my name when you come!" 

"Says the man who regularly roars like a bloody lion when he shoots his load!" She laughed. 

If she was honest, she was glad that he wanted sex. Of course she wanted it too, she could never say no to Malcolm, because she loved being loved by him, but she felt it was a good sign. Despite the sore throat, he was on the mend, physically, feeling a little more alive again.....well, at least bits of him were.

He went for the conventional, his body on top of her, his head next to hers. A slight wheeze in his breathing which she could hear in her ear, his touch gentle, insistent. Maddeningly arousing. 

When they made love this way he liked to tease her, positioning himself so that she could feel him touching the tip of his cock against her most tender spot, rubbing, but not entering. 

He liked the frisson of excitement it gave him, when she tried to lift herself towards him, or beg him to penetrate her.  
"Please Malcolm, I want you, please......" 

Taking his own weight on his hands and arms he levered himself away from her body, so that he could look down into her face as he slid inside her. He loved to see her pleasure.  
Her eyes fluttering shut as she felt him, her mouth opening slightly, letting go a little gasp as the sensation of him filling her made her whimper for him. 

"Oh sweet Lord!" She murmured, as he began to move slowly, withdrawing almost completely before thrusting back, establishing just enough strength and rhythm to drive her crazy. 

He held off until he felt her walls contract against him, always wanting her to achieve release before he let go himself.  
His lips close to her ear again, as he whispered his love and deep passion for her, whilst giving her all his love and passion physically. 

Afterwards, they lay together, side by side. Both thoroughly satisfied. 

"Comfy bed this." He commented, randomly. Then sat up and blew his nose noisily. 

oOo

Malcolm Tucker was enthroned. 

In the most comfy armchair. 

King Malcolm. 

Lord of all he surveyed, as his minions fawned over him, tending to his every need. 

Nancy and Sam, servants to the master, bringing him Lem-sip, cups of tea, a hot toddy. 

Lunch was a bowl of homemade soup. With soft new bread. 

A large box of tissues. With a pile of used ones in a bag at his side. 

Cough sweets, Vick rubbed on his chest to help his stuffy nose. 

The nose which now looked like a fucking beacon. Red and sore. 

Every so often there would be a plaintive request from him, in a feeble voice.

"Saaaammmm! Can I have a glass of water please?" 

"Nance! My tablets have worn off!" 

The banter then began.

_"For fucks sake Malcolm......what did your last slave die of?"_

_"I feel so sorry for you brother......man flu AND complete paralysis......it must be so tough....."_

His reply, another bleating whine. 

"But sis......I'm really poorly." 

Later, after medication, he must have been feeling better because a very vocal and competitive game of 'Taboo' with his niece and nephew ensued.  
Battle was joined, in which, in spite of his raspy throat Malcolm managed to shout his word ideas with the best of them, trying and not always succeeding, to moderate his language for those of tender years. 

His sister and his girlfriend listening from the kitchen, with horrified glances at each other, and then fond giggles.  
Because they knew both adult and kids were having the time of their lives. 

For Sam it was a particular eye opener to hear and witness his interaction with his sister's kids. 

Clearly, they absolutely adored him. Were disappointed they didn't see him more often, and loved his company.  
Also plain to see, was how much he loved theirs. He was so open with them, so engaged.  
When the game finally finished they both hugged him tight. 

Sam had a distinct lump in her throat. 

"That was fun Unc. Can we play again tomorrow? We like the words you use for Taboo!" 

"Away with ye! Wee rascals, and don't go using any of those phrases outside o' this room....ken? You're mother'll have my guts for garters!" 

"We won't Uncle Malc. We know they're bad words really! And we won't tell mam!" 

"Go on.....leave me be now......can't you see I'm dying here? Don't hug me like that.....you'll catch it.....I've got the dreaded lurgy!" 

"You're a big baby Uncle Malc......you're worse than I was when I got sick......"

"Away! The pair of you......I need to rest." He shooed them from his presence and sat back with a sigh. 

Sam and Nancy, the eavesdroppers, went into the living room in their wake. 

"Worn you out have they?" Nancy laughed, at the sight of her flushed and snotty sibling. 

"Fucking right! Bloody kids!" He laughed. "They never stop!" 

"Wait till you have kids of your own.....then you'll know......you can't hand them back at the end of the day!" 

"Kids? Me? Too fucking late for me! I've lost my chance! Shame....but it can't be helped."

Nancy stopped dead, biting her lip and glancing across at Sam.......who was pointedly busying herself with picking up the game and returning it to its box.  
Her eyes lowered, a slight blush to the cheek.......Malcolm's sister considered her own words, spoken in haste......had Sam......did Sam.....want children? 

Ever? 

Somewhere down the line?

She was young enough and had plenty of time, this wasn't Malcolm saying he didn't want them, just that he thought he'd missed his opportunity, that he was too old. 

"Hmmm!" She said quietly. "Last year you would have said it was too late to find happiness, and yet.....here you are.........." Malcolm looked surprised. As she continued. "......and last week you thought it was too much to hope for that you could ever think of yourself as a good person.....and you've come so far!   
So, no........it's not too late Malcolm." 

She left the room hurriedly, and Malcolm looked quizzically at Sam.

"What the fuck was that all about?" 

"She loves you Malcolm." Sam replied, sitting next to him on the sofa. "She wants you to be happy, she wants you to have it all, whatever that may be, she doesn't mean anything by it......she's trying to see into the future.....but she can't. None of us can." 

Malcolm frowned. 

"I dunno! " He said, with an accompanying eye roll. "It's too soon to think that far ahead."

"I totally agree. I think one day at a time is the way forward. Taking things slowly, letting them happen. You.....feeling better.......that's what's important right now, we none of us know what's ahead." 

She kissed his brow. 

"You look tired. Why don't you have a nap for an hour before dinner. We've got most of the day here tomorrow, I've booked us on the evening train."

"Yeah. Okay." He responded slowly, as if he were still mulling over his convoluted thoughts. 

"Malcolm! Stop thinking! You need to concentrate on yourself, and being well enough to go back to work on Monday. Take each day as it comes. It's a blessing. Okay?" 

"Yeah. Okay Sam. Fucking love you."

"Fucking love you too." 

oOo

Sunday went all too quickly. 

Malcolm and Nancy were closeted together in the kitchen for some long while, having a heart to heart chat.  
They spoke at length about their shared memories of childhood, neither held back, it was cathartic for both of them.  
Sam discreetly kept out of the way, and let them get on with it. 

She had her own heart to heart to deal with. With two very astute, younger scions of the Tucker/McDonald brood. 

"Auntie Sam?" 

"What is it?" 

"You love Uncle Malc don't you?" 

"I do, yes."

"He loves you too." 

"He tells me so. And I believe him." 

"We think you're cool."

"Why thank you! That's sweet."

"Are you and Uncle Malc gonna get married?" 

"I've no idea, love. We haven't been together that long yet. It's too early to say." 

"If you do.....can we come?" 

"Of course.....you'll have pride of place." 

"Thanks Auntie Sam." 

"What for?" 

"For loving Uncle Malcolm. Because we love him, and he's always been by himself, and our mam said he's too nice to be on his own, and now he's got you.....so that's really nice." 

"Well, I should thank him too.......for loving me!" 

"Auntie Sam?"

She could hear them building up to the big question. 

"Yeeeessss?" 

"In the holidays, can we come to London and stay? With you and Uncle Malcolm?" 

"Well, we have separate places......I have a flat......me and Uncle Malc are together a lot, but we don't live together all the time. But you could stay with your uncle and you'd see me too......you'll have to ask him......but I'm sure he'll say yes. There are lots of places in London for you to see, and lots to do." 

"Wow! Yeah! Thanks Auntie Sam. We'll go ask him now!"

The two excited children ran to find him, fortunately his conversation with their mother had reached its tearful conclusion.  
Brother and sister were standing by the kitchen counter. Their arms around each other. 

"Uncle Malc! Auntie Sam says we can come and stay with you on the holidays!!" 

"Oh! Did she now!" He smiled, his eyes twinkling merrily.


	25. I'm Back.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm has been forced to resign on his return from Scotland. 
> 
> After a short sabbatical, he's back, as Advisor on Election Strategy. 
> 
> His mind is still in a turmoil and now there is an election looming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place in conjunction with The Thick of It show. Episodes 7 and 8 of series three. 
> 
> I have woven the events of the episodes into this story. I am aware that Jamie wasn't in these episodes, but for my purposes, he was in the background. 
> 
> Malcolm has been on 'holiday'. He has been in Glasgow. Staying with his sister. On his return from Scotland we have the scene where he is entertaining the press to a curry at his house. So he clearly doesn't go back to work on Monday. 
> 
> Steve Fleming has been weaving his 'evil plan' while Malcolm is out of the way. 
> 
> Malcolm returns to Number Ten and announces....
> 
> "I'm back!" 
> 
> He then has his conversation about being on Easter Island. Later he says he's been to Spain, and his refers to his tan as 'custard cancer'. 
> 
> I wrote the events of these episodes quite thoroughly in 'Chronicles of a Spin Doctor'.  
> So I'm not going to go over old ground too much. 
> 
> This is Malcolm forced into a corner. He is out. Forced to resign. 
> 
> Before we know it, he's eating bhaji with Julius and is back again in his snuggly fleece! 
> 
> Ollie refers to him as different, his words are, "it's like he's been to the vets, had his knackers done!" 
> 
> Yes, he is different, and in the context of the Shitstorm story, we now know why. 
> 
> All TTOI fans know these episodes well, and can always view them if they don't, so I don't feel I need to dwell on the actual events too much. 
> 
> The narrative picks up from the point where Malcolm does his "let's set fire to tears" speech, where Sam is with him and beaming with pride. 
> 
> (I will refer to the events of the two episodes in retrospect.)

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.  
I'M BACK.

"Let's set fire to tears!" 

A round of applause rippled around the room as people turned to leave, their faces full of almost religious zeal. 

An election. 

Tom. 

Dan Miller and the Cabal. 

The opposition and Cal Richards, alias 'The Fucker'.

Malcolm sat down at his desk, running his hands through his hair. 

Sam wasn't quite sure how he'd managed to get through the last fortnight. 

It was a testament to his innate strength and tenacity. 

He himself knew exactly how he'd made it. 

Simply......Sam. 

He'd overcome the ignominy of a forced resignation, the press camped outside his home. 

The humiliation of an interview at the BBC for some fucking daytime twat programme, which would be watched by three people and a dog.  
Or, as an alternative, swimming the channel for 'Scope' or writing a children's book called The Angry Spider. 

That was the moment he almost caved in. 

Between the uncertainty over his future and attending twice weekly therapy sessions, he wasn't quite sure how he was still walking the Earth. 

Evenings and nights spent in her arms.  
When he wanted to cry, and rail against it all. 

But somehow he didn't.  
Sure, he wept hot tears that first night.  
Sam had too. 

From the moment Fleming's heavies descended on her office, surrounding her, and he came to her rescue, to the meeting he had over a curry with Julius, the man who Sam no longer trusted, she'd been afraid for him. 

Her own tears had been largely cried alone. When Malcolm wasn't there. 

Jamie was gone. Resigned over the whole thing. 

Unable to protect his friend, marginalised by the Fleming faction, he had no option but to leave.  
He felt he'd failed.  
His position no longer tenable. 

Sam met with him several times, and they wept together. 

But Malcolm didn't know.  
Their tears were their secret. 

Part of Sam was scared witless when Malcolm arrived home from his meeting with Lord Nicholson to tell her he was back.  
Her gut instinct was that he should walk away. Right then and there.  
But she knew in her heart of hearts, that that would never happen. 

The job was Malcolm's life blood. 

It was however, a somewhat neutered Malcolm Tucker who came back to Number Ten that second time. 

Somehow there was a fundamental change in him. 

He was different. 

A man worn down by the weight of his revelations only weeks earlier, which he was only very slowly coming to terms with. 

His own people stabbing him in the back, people he thought to be allies. The enormous strain he'd been under. 

The whole landscape was changed. 

Malcolm was now Advisor on Election Strategy. 

As such, a great deal rested on his shoulders. 

The problem was, he didn't honestly believe they could win. 

Tom just wasn't the leader he'd once been. His days were numbered.  
There were only so many incompetent things he could do and say before people began to find him out. 

oOo

 

Reaching for the remote Malcolm leaned forward and shut off the television.  
Then lay back against the cushions, closing his eyes. 

So much had happened since he'd returned from Glasgow. 

He cast his mind back. Mulling over the events.  
Seeing his own resignation announced on the screen in his office. Relinquishing his government Blackberry into Fleming's oily hand. 

Slimy tosser. 

As he'd walked out of Downing Street that day he really thought it was the end. 

Even though he'd bared his teeth and shouted.

"You will fucking see me again." 

He didn't believe it. 

During the few days of sabbatical, the hours when his future seemed so bleak and his past hung around his neck like an albatross, he'd begun to make some tentative discreet enquiries.  
Google. The Catholic Times. Press articles. 

Everything was different now. 

His whole life.  
His truth was out there, people knew now. It wasn't a secret anymore. 

For every moment of blessèd release he had, there were many more where he felt just as hog tied as ever. 

To a certain extent a weight had been lifted, but if he'd thought the feelings he'd experienced on the first days following his confession would melt away, he was sadly mistaken. The sensation of butterflies in his stomach, the lightheadedness.  
The ball of emotion in his chest still remained. 

In short he felt weird. Incomplete. 

There were things he now needed to know. 

Were there others like him? Affected in the same way? By the same man?  
Where was that person now? Where did he end up? Was he even still alive?

A festering anger brooded in Malcolm's breast.  
The need, not for revenge, but for justice. 

For it to be known. Answered. Acknowledged. Believed. 

Following his meeting with Lord Nicholson of Arnage, and his unexpectedly swift return to the corridors of power, these thoughts were only temporarily pushed aside. 

He had an election to oversee and try to win. 

It would demand his full attention.

But his troubled mind would not be put into abeyance. 

It continued to eat away at him just as it had always done. Only now it wasn't the scorch of shame, it was the fire of rectitude, it's flame still burning hot and bright, consuming his waking and his sleeping hours.  
Mocking him with its cackling laughter.  
"But he fucking got away with it......."

A slight touch on his face made Malcolm's eyes snap open and his body jolt.

"Sweetie, you're dreaming. Talking aloud. It won't let you rest will it? Even now?" 

Sam's head was close to his, her breath against his cheek. Warm and sweet. 

One finger traced down his jaw gently. Seizing her soft hand he kissed it fervently. 

"The bastard got off Scot free, Sam......as far as I know.......not a stain on his unimpeachable character.......in my head I think I should leave it, in my heart I want to hunt him down."

"I know Malcolm. I know. Whatever happens, whatever you do, or don't do......I'm here. Okay? Always."

"Fuck, but I need to get to bed. I've got a whole load of campaign stuff to go over tomorrow. I really haven't time for all this now. I need to concentrate on the task in hand, but it's tough to focus when part of my mind keeps wandering away."

"Come on......upstairs with you. Let's see if I can help you to switch off for a bit......"

"Shit, Sam, the only time I feel anywhere near normal, is when I'm with you. Somehow it seems to lessen, the odd sensation in my head seems to fade, and I can see clearly. I look at myself and I see a future, I see myself as a contented and happy man. Then it all crowds back in on me and the vision is gone, and it's not the future at all, it's just a fucking pipe dream. But I want it Sam......so bad." 

oOo

He stood under the flow of the shower water, his arms limp and lifeless at his sides. Sam soaped him. 

And he let her. 

He closed his eyes and relished the feel of her tender hands on him. 

Down his back, across his tummy, sucking in his abs furiously. Both arms, his hands, each individual finger.  
A deep sigh came from him as he tried so hard to let it go. 

She cupped his arse, squeezing gently. Her lips touched his. Bare breasts against his chest. As his eyes were closed tightly he wasn't expecting it, and he leaned in immediately, following her as she pulled back, desperate for the contact he loved so much. 

Afterwards he sat on the edge of the bed, she kneeling behind him. Smoothing oil over his naked back, kneading the knots of tension in his shoulders and neck.  
His head drooped, seemingly unable to hold the weight of it upright a moment longer. 

Guiding him back into the pillows, sitting astride him, caressing him to hardness, his eyes open now, so that he could see the vision above him. See the heat in her eyes, the passion in her beautiful face so flushed with arousal, and all for him. Groaning as she took him inside her and began to move seductively.

"Fuck! Sam!"

Rising a little to allow him room to thrust up, interlocking and entwining their fingers.  
Watching the movement of her lovely breasts as she rode him. 

As she peaked she leaned her body forwards to be close to him, her gasps harsh against his neck, his own release deep, filled with longing, and much needed. 

They lay thus as he softened inside her, his breathing laboured with effort. Emotions temporarily appeased and soothed.  
Arms tight around her, holding her in place. 

"Fucking love you." He whispered. 

"Fucking love you too." She smiled gently in reply. 

It was their thing. It was what he said. It was what she said back. 

Never was it more true than now.


	26. Campaign.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An election is looming and it's Malcolm's job to get everyone on side and working together to win. 
> 
> At the same time he is dealing with the fallout of his revelations about his past.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.  
CAMPAIGN. 

 

Malcolm Tucker was in the briefing room. 

In front of the assembled company, who sat, alert, on edge, rabbits in the headlights. Glancing nervously at each other. 

Sam was seated at the back. Discreet and slightly hidden. 

Standing, pacing. Jacket flung back, tie flapping, hands thrust into his pockets. 

A wipe board behind him, devoid of anything other than a large felt pen drawing of an erect cock and balls. 

"Right, listen up! We have a campaign to run. We have an election to win, and you lot, you are the fucking foot soldiers. You are the two guys in red who go down to the planet with Kirk and Spock and you know and we know that you're fucked!  
You get to mop up the splatter. Do the ground work, keep everyone on the campaign trail happy. Comprende?  
This morning we are going to talk a little about strategy. Better known as 'who fucks wins'.  
Any questions?" 

A tentative hand was raised. 

Malcolm shot a vicious glance at its owner. 

"What's the phallic reference?" Nodding towards the white board behind him. 

"Ah! I'm glad you asked that! It's a nice piece of sexual imagery to illustrate my briefing." He turned and pointed to said sketch. 

"This prick represents what we do to the opposition. We tease them, we fuck with them, whatever they come up with to try and fuck us, we come right back and twat the buggery out of them. If they get personal, we say.....'well, we don't lower ourselves to such cheap shots, we are all about policy'.  
We stroke them and play with them, and we mess with their heads, we bring them close to the edge but they don't get to come. That's how it works." 

Ollie Reeder stood up, from the back.

"But what if what they've said is believable, and the electorate are going for it?" 

"Then we make sure they listen to us. We come up with bigger, better, we discredit, we give facts, figures, truths. We take this virtual prick and fuck them up the arse with it......apologies to the females here.....but you get the drift." 

"Must you always use such vile imagery? It's so homophobic." Terri Coverley spoke up, quietly. 

"Now listen here......how very dare you! I'm not fucking homophobic. One of the first policies I helped get through parliament was for Gay Rights......back when you were still sticking puppy and kitten posters on your wall.  
Let's get this clear.....there's no namby fucking head up your own arse agendas in this room. It's not about labels, it's not about whether you are straight, gay or somewhere in between, it's not about race, or religion, I don't give a monkey's arse about any of that shite. It's about working together as a tight knit team. And winning this fucking election."

He paused and took a sip of water. 

"Let's get down to the nitty gritty.....unless anyone else has anything they want to say......?"

The silence hung heavy in the air. 

"Good, right.........I'll get started. 

Politics is the art of the possible. Campaigning is the science of changing what is possible. Making people see it, and embrace your ideas. It's fucking hard work, and we need to be on top of our game.  
It's about motivation. It's about education. 

Getting the voting Joe Public fired up. Teaching them the things The Party stand for, and how it will help them. 

We need to analyse the forces. Find out what the electorate are pissed off about. Why they are pissed off and what we can do to change things if elected. Then get that message across in the simplest way possible.  
The Great British Public don't want wanking rhetoric or in-fighting, they don't want back stabbing and bear baiting. They want simple, honest facts. So......communication is everything. Getting our message across.  
'This is us and what we stand for'.........."

Malcolm was in full flow, pacing as he spoke, the vein in his temple pulsing. His face eager and his eyes fierce and intense.  
It was frightening to witness, frightening and magnificent. 

"We need to take those who are ignorant of where we stand or what we want, and fill them in. We need to channel any anger they have and use it as a force for good and to win us votes. The average voter is apathetic, couldn't give a shit unless it affects his taxes, so we need to engage him , get him interested, listen to his concerns.  
So, I want Market Research......put the issues into their terms......no jargon, no spin, just the facts they need to know to make their informed decision.  
This campaign is a simple one.  
The less complicated the better. If people are confused, then they fucking lose interest. 

Reaching those who are marginalised, that is the task. Campaign against the unacceptable. Supporting a minority is only successful if you get the unaffected 'I'm alright Jack' majority on your side too.  
So choose your battlefronts wisely. The broader the support the more likelihood of winning the argument."

Nicola Murray suddenly spoke up. 

"This is all well and good Malcolm, but we already know our supporters agree with us on the whole." 

"Ah! Nic'la! That's just was I was about to say. I've seen way too many fucking campaigns where we're preaching to the converted. People who already agree with our cause.....it's the ones who don't that we need to bend their fucking ears."

"Persuading people that we are right.......so right that they must take some form of action.  
That will be in the Ballot Box.  
We don't need to be so very fucking clever......just more clever than THEY are. The 'other side', our political opponents.  
I want us on the News.  
I want the likes of Fiona Bruce standing there with her knickers damp for this stuff."

Robyn pulled a face. Malcolm ignored her. 

"Who comes out on top is the most important thing. What will get changed? How will it affect my family? My life?  
The press will come up with their own illustrations, there'll be cartoons, articles, interviews.  
So. Create events that actually generate those pictures, articles, headlines.  
Take the initiative.

The media love a good photo opportunity. So let's make sure they get it. 

Polls are important. Ollie......Gallup, MORI, NOP........I want you on this, people take notice of opinion polls, politicians and voters alike. Ignore them at your peril. 

Lastly.....understanding your opponent.  
Mannion and co. Cal 'the Fucker' Richards. That fucking posh tart that you were sweating on top of until recently......"

He glared pointedly at Reeder again.

".........they will be trying to do the same as us......but we have to be better. Pearson will be trying to personally fuck me up the arse, he hasn't succeeded yet. Much as he'd love take my trousers down, I've told him, I'm spoken for......"

A little glance at Sam, who coloured visibly. 

".......Glenn this is where you come in, you've been in their camp until recently, only lately returned to the fold, that mincing cunt Phil Smith needs taking down a peg or two, to use his own analogy he is the fucking Grima Wormtongue of the outfit. Him and fucking Tweedledum and Tweedledumber."

Glenn frowned and raised an eyebrow.

"I speak of Adam Kenyon and Fergus Williams.......two more massive gay shites I've never had the misfortune to come across.....and I don't mean that literally......."

"I thought we weren't being homophobic......." Glenn remarked wryly. 

"Are you asking for another fucking wang in the mouth.....? Or what?" Malcolm lunged back.  
"It's a fucking joke you tosser......lighten up for Christ's sake!" 

"Well.....that's my little pep talk done.......so, go forth my children....." Malcolm spread his arms expansively.  
"Go forth into the world and do your work......fly my pretties, fly!" 

He made shooing motions with his hands, as chairs were scraped back and one by one the little gathering shuffled out. 

oOo

Later, Sam bought Malcolm coffee. 

He was at his desk, head in hands. 

"Malcolm? You okay sweetie?" She hurried to his side, all concern. 

"Fucking hell Sam!" Her arms went around his side and he leaned into her. 

"We don't stand a fucking hope in hell's chance."

"You really think not?" 

"Nah. We'll be out. It won't be a landslide, might even be a coalition but we're gonna be shown the door. It's a dead cert." 

He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands distractedly. 

"There's stuff I need to do Sam. Before I'm hurled on the scrap heap and trampled underfoot by the other cunts great big fuck off hobnail boots. If we're out then I won't have the same clout, the same nowse." 

"What stuff?" Her hand stroked his hair absentmindedly. 

"I've gotta find him Sam. Find out what happened to him. Then I've gotta decide what I'm gonna do."

"Okay. But Malcolm, don't do it alone. Please. Let me help you. You've faced this by yourself all along, and you don't have to anymore."

"I haven't even had time to meet with the Doc this week. It's been so fucking manic. And I still hate going without you there, despite him saying I do better alone." 

"Well, you've been in your own twice now, and you've already dropped down to once a week......Malcolm I really don't think you should drop him altogether yet. It's too soon." 

"I hear you. And I won't. I know I still need to go. I do. It's just that I haven't got two slots a week. I've barely got one! And each time I go it leaves me so bloody drained......and I need all my energy for this stupid fucking election. All the plates are spinning Sam........it's all I can do to keep 'em going."

Sam bent down and kissed his forehead. 

"I know my darling, I know. But there is an end to it. One way or another. And we'll know in a matter of weeks. The day the polling stations close. Till then, I'm here for you.......always." 

Malcolm tugged her close, his head buried into her stomach, face against her blouse. 

"Wouldn't be here if it weren't for you." He whispered softly.

"Nor me, for you." She replied. 

His mobile rang insistently. 

"I gotta take this......"

She released him from her embrace and slipped out, back to her own desk. 

Malcolm answered.

"Tucker!" 

"Malcolm! It's Angela Heaney.....you called my office." 

"Angela, Hi! Thanks for getting back to me. Listen, I may have a potential story for you at some point, exclusive. But I need your help." 

"Sounds intriguing! What can I do for you?" 

"Can't talk about it over the phone. It's er.....delicate. Listen.....can we meet?" 

"Shit Malcolm, you're not going to ask me to do something illegal are you? To smear shite on your opponents in the light of the up and coming election?" 

Malcolm laughed.

"Nah, nothing like that......by the way you got any vacancies over there for a shit hot journalist?" 

"What? Not looking for a job are you?" 

"No....not yet at least......but I know someone who is. They're the best Angela......I wouldn't send you any old hack....."

"Shit! It's not McDonald is it? I heard he'd resigned."

"Might be......"

"Fuck it all Malcolm! If he's on the market I'll take him in a heartbeat. I know his mouth is as foul as yours but he's a damn fine journalist."

"Thanks love. I appreciate it. And I'll tell him. Can we meet tomorrow? I'm free around lunchtime?" 

"Can't you give me a clue what it's about?" 

"I need your help with some research. I want to look up an old adversary......and I don't mean that figuratively."

"I'm not doing anything underhand Malcolm, for you or anyone else. I know we're friends but don't take the piss......"

"Angela, I swear on my own considerable sized bollocks......it's nothing like that. This goes way back.....to the sixties.....it's nothing to do with politics. Okay?" 

Angela chuckled at the visual image. 

"Alright Malcolm. I'll meet you. At the Duck and Waffle.....you can treat me to a nice top class lunch! Shall we say one?" 

"Duck and Waffle?.....fucking hell......okay, I'll sell the family silver and stand you a meal!" 

"Excellent. Tomorrow then Malcolm. Be good.....and if you can't be good......be careful. Ciao." 

She rang off and Malcolm buzzed Sam.

"Table for two at the Duck and Waffle tomorrow Sam, please......I'm meeting Angela Heaney." 

"Okay. What time Malc?"

"One. And Sam can you get that Campaign Strategy stuff typed up?........I want a copy for everyone." 

"Sure. I'm on it. Angela okay?"

"Yeah. Wants to know why I want her help."

"Will you tell her it all?"

"Fuck! Dunno. Not sure I can.....not just like that.....but I'll need to tell her something, to get her on board. She's good Sam, the best.....if there's dirt, she'll fucking find it......she's like bloodhound!" 

Malcolm clicked off the intercom button and sat back with a groan, his head was pounding. 

Thank god this day was almost over.


	27. The Lunch.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm meets old friend Angela Heaney of the Daily Mail, for a posh lunch. 
> 
> He has a favour to ask her.....

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.  
THE LUNCH. 

Malcolm and Angela sat facing each other across a small table.  
He'd booked a window seat, of course. 

Angela watched him closely as his eyes scanned the view. Narrowed slightly as he focused on the beauty of the City skyline. 

"Lovely, isn't it?" 

"What is?" She'd broken his reverie and he turned to stare at her. 

"The Gerkin. I love it." 

"Looks like a fucking suppository." 

"Oh Malcolm! Only you could sit at the top of the Heron Tower and look down and only see something you stick up your arse!" 

He dragged his eyes from the glass and peered at the menu. 

"What ye having?" 

"I thought the asparagus to start, and do you fancy sharing the whole sea bass? It's for two?" 

"Yeah, ok. Go for it." He turned to the waiter. "I'll have the pâté to start and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc please." 

He shut the menu with a snap and handed it over. 

"So, Malcolm......what is all this cloak and dagger stuff? Why do you want to talk to me? And a little bird tells me you're having an affair with your PA?" 

She raised her eyebrows coquettishly. 

"A little bird eh? Remind me to break out my 12 bore and shoot the arse off that little bird!" 

"So is it true?" 

"Yeah. It's true. Few months now." 

"Sounds like a great match. I've met Sam a few times at functions and stuff. She's bright, smart as paint in fact, and lovely too. You can't go wrong! What does she see in a wizened old git like you though?" 

Malcolm laughed. 

"Fuck knows!" 

"Well, I'm very happy for you! You gonna ask her to marry you?" 

"You're the second person who's asked me that lately. I don't know....okay Angela! It's too fucking soon. Yes, I'd like to marry her.....yes, I'd marry her tomorrow......but.......I dunno.....so much is going on at the moment. I just have to take one day at a time." 

"Malcolm.....how long have we known each other? Fifteen years? Twenty? We even fucked once....remember? I tell you.....if you let her slip away you're a fool."

"How can I fucking forget that? We were both on the sodding rebound! Not our finest hour! And I'm not going to let her slip anywhere. She's in for the long haul, so she tells me, and I believe her. But we're both happy as we are for now." 

Angela sipped her wine. 

"Christ! Malcolm! How long ago was that? Bloody hell! I was still with the Evening Standard then!Newly divorced from Stuart the Bastard!  
I was going through my 'all men are lying, cheating shits' stage.  
And you......God Almighty......you'd just got rid of that fucking Wicked Witch of the West you'd saddled yourself with......I seem to remember the sex we had was great! Although you weren't keen to do it! Why did we only do it the once?" 

"Because it wasn't fucking right, the timing was crap and I was trying my best to be gentlemanly.......instead of a cunt.......and doing it like that....on the spur......made me feel like shit, and you were SO not in the right place for a deep and meaningful relationship.....that's what you said at the time and I believed you. So I didn't call. Didn't wanna make a nuisance of myself!" 

"That's the trouble with you Malcolm, you're TOO good! Always were. Underneath that titanium exterior you are actually marshmallow!" 

"Can we stop this conversation now!" He chuckled, as their food arrived.

"Yeah.....sorry......you were my 'one that got away' Malcolm.......you know that?" 

"Angela! Enough! You've got a fucking husband now.....and Guy is a great bloke." 

She smiled warmly at his discomfiture and changed the subject. 

"So, come on, spill......what am I really here for.....it sure as hell isn't to talk about our naughty past liaison?"

"I need some help. Searching old news articles, or newspaper archives, for anything relating to a certain Dermot O'Brien. Father Dermot O'Brien to be exact."

"Okaaayyy.......?"

"I wanna know where he went when he left his parish in Glasgow, suddenly in 1969. I wanna know if he made the news, or anything about him I can find. I wanna know if he's alive or dead. And if he's alive I wanna know where he is now. I googled him, but there's nothing. But there has to be something, I found when he was ordained and the seminary he was in, but that's pretty much it. You have access to a vast database, and that's why I need your help." 

"Blimey! What's all this about Malcolm......he's not another disgusting kiddy fiddler is he?" 

She said it so flippantly, although she meant no harm, the reaction was immediate. 

Malcolm's face froze, as if he'd been stung, he glazed over, his eyes misting as he swallowed hard. 

She regarded him carefully, as she took another mouthful, then stopped chewing......and stared at him in horror.

"Malcolm, you're not saying........? Oh my god!" Her face twisted, and she heaved. Spitting the mouthful out and into her napkin, her fork falling onto her plate with a clatter, causing other diners to turn their heads sharply. 

Malcolm said nothing, but looked helplessly at her, his face impassive. One tear sliding slowly down his cheek. 

Angela left her seat, rounded the table, and gathered him into a tight hug.  
Still he said nothing, and the embrace was not returned, he just patted her arm gently. 

After a few seconds she released him and sat back down, but held his hand across the table. 

"When did all this come out?" She asked softly. 

"Last month." He replied, toying with his knife distractedly. Not looking at her. 

"And no one knew?" Her face was so white, he thought she might pass out. 

"No. No one." 

"Holy fuck Malcolm. That's forty years ago." 

"I know." He raised his eyes to hers slowly, and she gazed back at him with such pity. 

"I have to know Angela. If there are others. I need to do this. Otherwise I'll have no peace. Ever." 

"And this man.....he.........? You..........?" She stammered, almost with incomprehension. 

"Yeah." Malcolm drained his wine glass and replaced it on the table, his long fingers twirling the stem. 

"Oh God." She whispered. "How old were you?" 

"Eight." 

Her hand clamped across her mouth and tears came, her mascara mingling and making two black streaks down her cheeks. She rallied with some difficulty. 

"Then of course I'll help you. No question." 

"Thanks. I appreciate it." 

"If I find anything......what are you going to do?" 

"Dunno.....depends.......go to the relevant authorities I guess. I'm not even sure what one does in these situations. Or who to go to. It's so long ago. Just feel I've gotta do something, that's all. For my own peace of mind as much as anything." 

"Well, I'll do some trawling first. See what I can dig up. Then I might put a small ad in the Personals column.  
'Will anyone with any information on Father Dermot O'Brien please contact.....etc etc.....'  
That'll be a start at least. You said you found his ordination record, and seminary?" 

"Yeah, I've got it here." Malcolm reached into his jacket pocket. 

"Well, it's a start. I'll go from there. Malcolm you realise this could turn really big? You have a high profile. It could be a lot of very unwanted publicity. Place you under a great deal of scrutiny. It has the potential to be very unpleasant indeed." 

"Yeah. I know. But I gotta do something.......Angela.......pardon me.......but you need to go to the Ladies.....you've got makeup all down your face.......not a good look!" 

"Oh! Christ! Have I? Shit! Thanks, I'll go now, before the mains arrive!" 

Leaving her napkin and grabbing her handbag she left the table hurriedly. 

oOo

"How'd it go?" Sam curled her fingers around his, as she stood beside him in his office on his return. 

"Yeah. Okay. She's gonna help me. Do some digging. She'll let me know. She likes you by the way." 

Sam smiled slightly. 

"I'm honoured!" 

"Wasn't sure what you saw in me though!" 

"She used to fancy you!" 

"Where the fuck did that come from! She's married now." 

"I know! But I met her at a dinner do, ages ago. We got chatting. She was admiring your arse from across the room."

Malcolm raised his eyebrows as if scandalised. 

"Admittedly she was a bit tiddly........she nudged me and said 'he's got a really great arse' and I agreed wholeheartedly. Then she said 'it looks even better in the flesh!" 

Malcolm coughed, spitting out the mouthful of coffee he'd just taken.

"So I inferred from that, that you and she were once an item?" 

"Did you now! Well we weren't......not really. It was a one off......and I'm not fucking proud!" 

Sam laughed. 

"I'm not jealous Malcolm. It's fine. You've had other women, it's not a big deal."

"You make me sound like a fucking Lothario. I'm not.......okay?" 

She cuddled against him with an impish grin. 

"I know you're not. I was just teasing you." 

"Back to work, woman! There's stuff to do!" 

Her lips touched his gently as she turned away, still smiling, and he couldn't help but laugh himself.  
Cheeky minx.


	28. Election Fall Out.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The General Election called by Tom following the vote of no confidence, is upon Malcolm. 
> 
> All the campaigning is done, there is no more he can do other than wait for the results to come in.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.  
ELECTION FALL OUT.

It was clear that no one would be going home tonight. 

The polling stations closed at 10pm. 

The exit polls made it pretty close. 

The offices at Number Ten were full to overflowing with weary people milling about. 

As the evening progressed and the results began to come in, in dribs and drabs, a picture began to emerge. 

Malcolm stayed in his own office. Removed from the main party faithful. From time to time he heard whoops and hollers as a favourable result came in. Followed by groans when they were shafted in another.  
He watched Peter Snow's 'swing-o-meter' and his giant map of the British Isles, changing colour constituency by constituency, as he made yet another prediction, the plasma screen in front of him flickering.

By 2am he was sure they were fucked. 

At three he put on his jacket and headed for home. Sam holding on to his hand tight.  
He slipped away quietly. No point in staying. It was not a funeral at which he wanted to be a pall bearer.

There would be a hung parliament and he knew the Lib Dem tit wanks would join forces with their opponents to form a coalition. They were so desperate for even a smidgen of power they would trample their own granny into the ground to get it. 

No one needed him at this precise moment. 

He wasn't even sure he'd still have a job, after this night. 

What would be his role in Oppositon? 

He had no idea, and, what was more, he didn't really care. 

On the way out he and Sam ran into Julius coming down the stairs. 

"Seen enough Malcolm?" 

"More than enough. I'm away to ma bed." 

Sam regarded the peer with barely disguised distain. Since Malcolm's forced resignation Sam had not spoken one word to 'his Lordship'.  
The fact that he had asked Malcolm to go back, _'buttered no parsnips'_ with her. It was he who had helped Fleming engineer Malcolm's demise in the first place, and only wanted him to return when he realised what a mistake he'd made. 

As far as Sam was concerned he was beneath contempt. He wasn't even classed as pond scum, in her eyes, he was the amoeba that fed on the algae that lived on the pond scum. 

"There'll be a leadership challenge."

"Of course there will. What do you fucking expect? Tom was unelectable, I'm surprised he's done as well as he has." 

"We have to keep Miller and his familiars out, Malcolm. They will be the death knell for the Party for years to come. You should work on your girl Nicola......she would be an ideal candidate. Pliable and relatively unknown, whilst appealing to the female voter, with the right attitude and enthusiasm."

"Our own glummy mummy you mean! And she's no girl of mine!" 

"It's all about the party's future Malcolm, and Dan Miller definitely isn't it. Sacrifices will need to be made."

"Perhaps you could do some back stabbing and wheeler dealing behind the scenes Lord Nicholson." Sam chimed in. "Come up with some nasty leaked figures, or better still, just get one of your oily pals to make something up.....to discredit him.....get him out that way.......oh wait......you've already done that before!" 

Malcolm looked at Sam, and tried his best to cover up a smirk. 

"I? I would never.....? I have an unimpeachable reputation........" He began with some bluster. 

"Oh, save me do!" Sam scoffed. "Methinks he doth protest too much. Come on Malc, let's go, the air in here is full of bullshit." 

"See you round Julius. If I still have a job come daybreak, I'll be back later to clear out my desk, I'm guessing we'll be moving to make way for the new incumbents. There'll be no power once we're in opposition, we'll be like the fucking proverbial meat pie at the Vegan Society dinner dance. 'Night!" 

With his arm, protectively and proudly around Sam's back, they left together. 

oOo

A week or more passed in the wink of an eye.  
The wheels of government turned relentlessly. 

Now in opposition, Malcolm's office was in The Norman Shaw buildings. 

As predicted, Tom resigned in the wake of the election defeat and a leadership race began. 

Little factions emerged, like gangs in the playground. Dan Miller had a powerful cabal, ably assisted by Fleming.  
However there were a large number of party members who found him toxic, and were prepared to support anyone who wasn't him. 

The press were all over them like a rash. 

There were television debates, there were press interviews, a fucking battle bus.  
Malcolm had see it all before.  
His hand was forced in supporting and putting his considerable political weight behind Nicola Murray. 

Shoe horned. 

In his own mind she was the most useless tool in the box. Her inexperience let her down, she was hopeless at public speaking, becoming flustered and incoherent if questioned too strongly.  
The situation of her home life was also a mess, and a potential problem point if the media chose to latch onto it.  
The husband was a complete tit.  
She came across as being cold and distant from her children. Her eldest daughter was a fucking spoilt brat. Not good when trying to present oneself as the epitome of the working wife and mum. Managing to have a successful career in politics, a happy marriage and be a supreme Earth Mother. 

In short she would need a great deal of work. Whipping her into some sort of shape, to take on the might of the Cabal. 

Malcolm wasn't sure she was up to it. Nor was he, for that matter. 

So, he was saddled with the insipid alternative that was probably going to be most members choice, because she was the lesser of two evils. 

Great! 

The other major factor in all this......was that somehow......after his forced resignation......he just didn't really care anymore. 

Everything was different now. 

The Party he'd given his life to, pushed him aside without a second thought. He'd only returned after his own colleagues tactical error. On a technicality. 

After his meltdown, his priorities were suddenly changed. 

Sam was his main focus. 

Not his work.......

That and finding the man who had blighted almost his entire life.

oOo

It was the weekend. 

Malcolm's phone was much quieter these days.  
He even put it on silent on Friday nights. 

The previous evening he'd met up with Jamie. 

They'd shared a drink or four, talked long into the evening. 

Jamie was pished. 

As of now he was downstairs snoring loudly on Malcolm's couch. Mouth like the inside of a parrot's cage.  
The headache of doom when he eventually woke.  
Malcolm, a slightly more conservative boozer, knew when he'd had enough, and was therefore a little more compos mentis than his friend. 

Sam frowned as the front door was slammed open, past midnight, to admit the two men.....Jamie with is arm around Malcolm's neck, Malcolm supporting most of his weight.  
Singing The Skye Boat Song, in surprisingly dulcet tones, albeit somewhat fluid of style.

_'Speed bonnie boat like a birrrrdd on the wing.....onwarrrrdd the sailors crrrryyyy......"_

A very annoyed cab driver, whom Sam went to down the garden path to appease as best she could.  
Paying him fifty quid because Mr McDonald had barfed on the back seat. 

Fucking hell! 

She cleaned him up as he gazed at her, unfocused. Pointing a crooked index finger at her and poking it fruitlessly. 

"Fuck, but you're a wondrrrrrful wimmen, Malcs' a fuckin lucky fuckerrr....." He slurred, the burr notched up to 'Glaswegian Docker' mode.

Covering him with a blanket, he was asleep before she pulled his legs up under it.  
Malcolm swayed a little beside her, as they both looked down on the slumbering babe. 

"He'll be right." 

So they left him. Snorting blissfully. Dead to the world. 

oOo

Malcolm's eyes opened onto the new day, blearily.  
Crusted with sleep. 

Bed head. Morning breath. 

He propped himself up onto one elbow, and stayed where he was, gazing at the beautiful woman lying beside him.  
Every detail fascinated and entranced him. 

Her eyelashes, long, brushing her cheeks.  
Mouth like a rosebud, her lips full and pink and succulent.  
Strands of hair across her face, which he reached forwards and brushed gently aside.  
Peaceful in repose. 

Just looking at her made his heart race inside his chest.  
It's beat heavy and throbbing. 

Love and desire. 

How he adored her! 

Everything she was. 

His. 

At least she told him so. 

But he struggled to believe it. 

He laid his head against her breast, and she instinctively bought her arms around him, holding him in place.  
"Mmmm!" She murmured, laying her cheek against the top of his head. 

"Fucking love you." He whispered. 

oOo

Breakfast was a muted affair......Jamie couldn't hold up the weight of his own head, and groaned for sympathy that was unforthcoming.  
Malcolm, tucking in heartily to bacon and eggs. 

Sam ministering to the pair of them. 

"Eat something.....line your stomach!" He jabbed his knife towards his friend. 

"Ma fuckin' hid!" He moaned, sipping the coffee Sam put in front of him, and holding out his palm for the two paracetamol she placed there. 

Just then, the doorbell rang. 

Malcolm and Sam both looked at each other in confusion.  
Who would be calling this early on a Saturday morning? 

Sam padded along the hallway to answer it. 

It was Angela Heaney.


	29. Revelations and Repercussions.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela has some information to share with Malcolm. 
> 
> It comes as a huge and unwelcome shock. 
> 
> Jamie is there to witness and come to the aid of his oldest friend. 
> 
> Wheels are in motion, Malcolm is on board a runaway train. He cannot get off, he's come too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is helped by napac. 
> 
> http://napac.org.uk/ 
> 
> This is the link for the National Association for People Abused in Childhood. In the UK.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.  
REVELATIONS AND REPERCUSSIONS. 

Both men looked up expectantly as Sam showed her through to the kitchen. 

Malcolm blanched at the sight of her, Jamie looked confused. 

"Hello Malcolm, hello Jamie." She said, without smiling. "I had to pop round Malc, this couldn't wait, and I couldn't put it in an email." 

She clutched a file to her chest. 

Malcolm swallowed heavily. Angela glanced at Jamie, as if unsure if she should continue.  
Sam placed a cup of coffee in front of her and offered her a seat. 

"What's all this?" Jamie asked, his eyes darting from one to the other. 

"Angela has been doing some digging for me." Malcolm replied noncommittally. 

"Listen, mate.....if it's private.....you want me to fuck off?" 

Malcolm stayed his friend with a hand on his arm. 

"Nae pal, you stay. It's okay."

He turned to the journalist, and raised an eyebrow. 

"What is it?" He asked tentatively. "What have you got for me?" 

"He's dead Malcolm." She said simply, beginning to open the file. 

Malcolm blew the air out of his lungs.  
Sam gave a little gasp. 

"He died five years ago. Of a heart attack. He's buried in Worcestershire, where his last parish was."

"Fuck! I knew it." He breathed. 

"What else?" He sat back in his chair as Jamie watched his friend closely from the other side of the table. 

"Lots." She responded. "He left your parish under a bit of a cloud it appears, quite suddenly. Right? In 1969." 

"Yeah. He just went. Disappeared. Quick like." 

"Well. There was a complaint against him. It was hushed up. Or rather the parents 'persuaded' not to pursue it. My ad was answered by a Michael Allen. Amongst others." 

She handed Malcolm a black and white photograph, which he took and scrutinised closely, narrowing his eyes. 

"Fuck!" Jamie blurted. "I remember him.......that kid from the top floor.......you know him Malc? What the fuck's all this about?" 

Angela slid another, equally old, photograph across the table. A man, about thirty-five. Short neat hair.  
Side parting. Dressed in a black button through short caped soutane or cassock, which reached the ground. A large crucifix around his neck. Smiling happily. 

Malcolm's hand went over his mouth and he knocked over his chair as he bolted for the downstairs toilet.  
The sound of a splatter in the lavatory bowl and the noise of retching and heaving as his breakfast made another appearance.  
Sam made to jump up, but Jamie stopped her. 

"I'll go." He said quietly. 

Jamie closed the door behind himself as he went in. 

For some moments the sounds continued, then a quiet descended. Only their voices audible.  
  
After five or more minutes Sam knocked gently and pushed open the door. 

Two men, sitting together on the floor beside the toilet pan. 

Malcolm with his legs tucked under him, his face a pallid grey. Eyes shut tight. Arms limp at his sides.  
Breathing rapidly.  
Leaning heavily into his friend, who knelt beside him, embracing him with his arms, one hand around Malcolm's head, cradling it against his chest, stroking his hair soothingly.  
The other around his body, holding him close. 

Yet they were no longer two men.........

........they were two little boys, the younger comforting the older.  
In their den, on the building site.  
Long years between all melted away.........the one hiding to escape a whacking from throwing stones at next doors cat..........the other, fresh from confession. 

_"I try to be good Jamie. I try so hard. But I guess I'm just really bad. Through and through. And I don't know what to do to change it. God always punishes me."_

_"You're no bad! No wearse than me! My da says I'm the naughtiest wee monkey there is! Don't go to Kirk nae more Malcy......skive off......come down the park wi me......"_

_"I cannae........me Da'ud kill me.........I wish I was deed Jamie, I just wish I was deed."_

Sam bent down, beside them both, Angela hovering behind. 

Her voice very soft. 

"Malcolm, come on sweetie. Let's get you up.......get you a glass of water." 

Jamie relinquished his grip, and Malcolm stood on shaky legs, the hand that took the tumbler shook, as he sipped it.  
Sitting back down at the table. 

"Tell me the rest." He said quietly, looking up at Angela, his face slowly regaining its colour. 

"Are you sure?" She asked, unable to keep a tremor from her voice. 

"Aye.....get it over with." He replied. 

"He moved to Dumfries. Was there for three years. Then moved again, equally as quickly. I've had three replies from people there, whom I've spoken to. Again they moved him on, hushed it up.  
Then there's this article......in the Carlisle local paper.  
That's where he went next. Apparently there was some Church trip or outing and a child complained. The parents went to the Police. It was reported on, I have the article here if you want to see?" 

Malcolm shook his head. So she passed the print out to Sam. Jamie's tears were coursing down his face unchecked. 

"I'm not sure how he wriggled out of that one but he did. He was then kinda demoted. Went as a curate to a parish near Coventry.  
That's the period I can't really find much out about, and I've no contacts from there either.....so he was either on his best behaviour, or his victims haven't come forward for one reason or another.  
He ended up in rural Worcestershire, not far from the Coventry parish, and that's where he died. 

I've been contacted by fifteen people. But this is in response to a tiny ad in the personals. Plus what I've been able to dig up. There's been a massive cover up Malcolm. By the Church. They must have known. Must have done. Yet they just moved him elsewhere."

"Holy fuck Malc!" Jamie breathed, wiping his eyes and face. "And you never told a fucking soul...." 

"There's enough evidence here to go public, go to the authorities, ask for an official investigation." Angela continued.  
  
"I'm sure that if that happens, there'll be more coming forward......word'll get round.  
The Mail will cover it and run it......if you want that is........and be sure Malc.....because this is going to be horrendous.  
And you are going to be right in the thick of it. Literally." 

oOo

Malcolm put down the phone to the police, one hand on the receiver, one hand in Sam's. 

He had been put through to a specialist Child Protection Officer, he was to go to the station and make a statement, taking with him the evidence that Angela had gathered for him. 

She would not break the story until something concrete happened. But she was already preparing a major article. It was going to be a leader, with a banner headline. As yet she had not approached her editor, hanging back to give any subsequent investigation time to develop.

Obviously there could be no trial, since the priest was no longer living, but there would, undoubtedly be an Enquiry, and the Church would come under scrutiny.  
It was impossible for Malcolm to prepare himself for what was to come.

But he now had his support network. 

It was more help to him than anything in his entire life.

To be loved thus, and believed. 

Twice weekly visits to Faversham recommenced as soon as the election was over.  
Malcolm found he needed that precious time......he wanted it.  
That hour. 

Talking to someone who wasn't a relative or friend, who did not require anything from him and who could be completely detached and unbiased.  
Malcolm found talking about his ex wife helped him get passed many troubles he'd had with himself and his own self worth as a man, since his fateful marriage. The many other struggles and fears he'd had since childhood came out and were analysed, discussed and largely laid to rest.  
It was enormously beneficial. 

Then there were his 'wing men'.

Angela, and now Jamie. His sister and brother-in-law. 

And Sam. 

His one constant.

His rock.

She came with him to the station. Sat through the whole lengthy process with him.  
He was directed to seek Legal Advice, so he and Sam duly contacted the lawyer Greg Fraser. 

Someone Malcolm had known for a good many years.  
It would be his task to request any files or documentation in a legal capacity which Malcolm may require as evidence for his case, should one be bought.  
He would work in conjunction with the constabulary, and be Malcolm's representative. 

He was also put in contact with napac (National Association for People Abused in Childhood) who were, not only helpful and very kind, but helped support and advise him through the process. 

So the wheels were in motion. 

Malcolm felt a little as if he were on board a runaway train.  
Too fast for him to jump off, without injury, careering down the track, threatening to jump the rails at any moment. 

A huge day for him was meeting some of the others who had been victims like himself. 

Malcolm was not one for happy clappy communal self help and group hugs, nor was he keen to share his experiences with a bunch of strangers, but he found that the people he met were not in that mindset either.  
The last thing they wanted was to sit around and share their abuse stories, tragic though they undoubtedly were, what they _did_ want to do was know that someone else knew how they felt, what they'd been through, believed their terrible experiences and sympathised and had empathy with their traumas. 

It was an emotional day. As predicted more victims had come forward, there were upwards of thirty or forty people so far contacted. 

Many of whom praised Malcolm for standing up for them and with them, so that they could all begin to move on. 

oOO

The Investigation well under way, the church trying desperately to defend itself, against a mounting tide of accusations and evidence, the story was finally broken in the press. Stories emerged like maggots from an apple. 

The interest and subsequent backlash was immeasurable in its intensity. 

Suddenly everyone knew. 

Wanted his story, his version of events, regardless of his finer feelings.  
For two days he was besieged at home. 

Unable to leave the house for the pack of wolves on his doorstep.  
He received hate mail too. Called a liar, a self publicist, vilified and judged on Twitter. 

As far as work went, he continued to turn up every day.  
Although he well knew that people nudged each other and whispered behind their hands when he walked by.  
Julius came to speak privately to him, but was told to fuck off in no uncertain terms. Malcolm felt he could do without commiserations from that quarter. 

His support of Nicola's leadership campaign was strengthened as a result of having him as her champion.  
In fact his revelations and the public show of sympathy he received as a result, pretty much assured her success. 

The Cabal was well and truly beaten. Fleming was finished and subsequently resigned from government. 

A double whammy. 

Following Nicola's triumph, Malcolm decided he desperately needed a proper holiday. 

So, with his face plastered all over the papers, and social media, for both his splendid job of ensuring the smooth election of the new Leader of the Opposition, and for the Child Abuse scandal, which was also currently rocking the corridors of The Vatican, Malcolm and Sam boarded a plane and headed for the South of France.


	30. Denouement.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is all over the newpapers, following the revelations of the abuse case and the election of Nicola Murray as Leader of the Opposition. 
> 
> He and Sam have escaped to the South of France. 
> 
> Malcolm has made a surprising discovery......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter. 
> 
> I would like to thank everyone for all the messages of support and comments on this story. 
> 
> I realise it's not a fluffy tale, it covers some serious issues and is intense and deep.  
> I sincerely hope that hasn't put people off. 
> 
> Throughout I have tried to be as accurate as possible and have done a great deal of research. 
> 
> Obviously it isn't real life, it is fiction, it is AU. 
> 
> But I hope it's none the worse for that.

CHAPTER THIRTY.  
DENOUEMENT.

Their second week away. 

Sam knew. 

Sometimes Malcolm just needed his space.

His own time, where he would just sit. 

That was what he was doing now, underneath the trees in their little courtyard.  
In the shade. 

On the premise of reading a book.  
Except she knew he wasn't. He hadn't turned a page for fifteen minutes.  
Gazing off into the distance, lost in thought. 

Sam knew. 

She left him to it. Allowed him those moments, for peace and tranquility, to be on his own. 

Their farmhouse holiday home was near Cassis. 

A part of Provence famed for its rosé wines........

.......and the Calanques. 

Small inlets in the limestone coastline, each one like a tiny fjord. With a little beach. 

Heaven. 

Reached only by boat. Completely private. 

Where they would go to swim in the crystal clear warm Mediterranean waters.  
Sometimes in the evening they took a dingy and went skinny dipping. Their naked bodies sliding down into the sea, swimming together, a symbiosis, two people so fundamentally different, yet so inextricably bonded. 

No one cared.  
There was no one to see......no one at all.  
Just two people.

Desperately in love. 

oOo

She wandered down across the paved court, through the dappled shade. 

He didn't turn as she approached. 

She could see he was crying. Softly, silently. Tears pouring down his cheeks, but the face impassive, lit with a strange light, a glow, the colour high in his cheeks. 

Setting down her tray on the little tile topped table, she moved closer. 

"Malc.....?"

His head swivelled to look at her and he held out his arms. 

Onto his lap, her face close to his. 

"What is it?" 

"I've realised something........." His sniffles stifled, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. 

She nuzzled his cheek, her mouth finding his, a little kiss, which turned tender and deep. 

Separating, she raised an eyebrow in mute question, inviting him to continue. 

"That feeling in my chest.......that I've had ever since, well.....since _that_ day.......it's gone."

"Oh _Malcolm_!" She whispered, holding him tight. 

_"It's gone Sam.......not there any more.......fuck! I didn't even notice.....until a few minutes ago."_

oOo

The window open wide. 

A thin net curtain billowing. 

Afternoon. 

Lying together as one, writhing, their bodies entwined. Deeply penetrated, moving in unison, Sam's gasps in tune with his movement within her, the heat between them.  
Sweat on his back, a trickle between her breasts, his tongue probing her mouth in time with his prick buried inside her.  
Passion, strong and forceful, her legs wide for him, willing him on, begging for more of him, just a little more, wanting everything he could give. Taking it. Relishing the feel of him so deep. 

Their release almost simultaneous, cries of ecstasy from both of them, his name on her lips.  
"Malcolm! Please! Oh god!" 

Pulsing out his seed along with every ounce of his need and desire for her. 

One of many afternoons spent thus. 

Followed by nights where they lay side by side and talked for hours. 

Mornings waking so close, heads together on the pillow, a warm kiss, the cool yellow light as the sun rose. 

"Fucking love you."

"Fucking love you too." 

oOo

They strolled into the little harbour town. Ate a long lunch in one of the small family run restaurants which served fish caught that morning, as the boats came in on the tide. 

The food so fresh, so delicious. Chilled wine to accompany, then a stroll back for a well earned nap or to make love. 

Malcolm so relaxed, his jaw slack, no tension in the shoulders or neck, no throb in the temples. 

Sometimes he didn't bother dressing until lunchtime, wandering the farmhouse in a robe or his boxers and nothing else.  
Stubble on the chin, hair wild and unkempt. 

He showed no signs of wanting to go home, and there was no way Sam was going to push. 

This was what he needed. 

A letter arrived for him during that second week. From Greg Fraser. As the Enquiry gathered momentum both he and the other victims would be possibly able to claim compensation.  
The case had been referred to the Criminal Injuries Compensation Authority.  
It was predicted that there would be a mass pay out.  
At first he wasn't sure whether this was an attempt to buy him, and the others, off or whether it was a way of putting a price on his suffering.  
Which, as far as he was concerned could not be reduced to a monetary figure.

Malcolm was not particularly either thrilled or enamoured by this news. It was not recompense he was seeking. Not financial anyway. He wanted acknowledgement. Acceptance that this happened, and that the church were at fault, and to be believed that he and the others were telling the truth. He hoped that this would help him in his quest to rebuild his life, and afford him some closure.  
Which was a well used word, but one which resonated strongly nevertheless. 

oOo

The following evening, after they'd eaten dinner and shared a bottle of local wine, they walked home together hand in hand, along the dirt track that led from the village to their house. In the dark, by the light of Malcolm's mobile phone. 

The cicadas serenading their stroll. A scratchy string quartet, piercing the night. 

Stars wheeling above them in a trail of silver sparkles. Like glitter sprinkled onto black velvet. 

Malcolm had been particularly quiet and withdrawn all day.  
Mulling over the letter and what it might mean to him.  
Brooding about the events of the previous months. Thinking about his first ever night spent with Sam, what she'd made him feel. Her warmth, her kindness, the love she showed him, that he didn't think even existed, least of all for the likes of him.

That first shitstorm, sharing the meal she'd cooked, and a tub of ice cream. 

So long ago it seemed. So sure he'd fucked up, telling her he loved her.

When he hadn't fucked up at all, because it was the beginning.  
The beginning of everything that gave his life meaning. 

His thoughts turned to the hostage day......and how it occurred to him, that he'd just found this wonderful woman, this fantastic relationship and it could all have been torn away from him in a single moment. An instant. A heartbeat. 

In short, he concluded, he wanted more. But he didn't know how to broach the subject, or ask for what he craved. 

"Sam?" He said suddenly. 

"What is it sweetie?" 

"Are you happy?" 

She turned to look at him, and he shone his torchlight towards her face. She was smiling gently. 

"Yes, Malcolm. I am. Especially with you, like this. Very happy. What about you?" 

He directed the beam back towards his feet.

"Fuck.....Sam, if you'd asked me that question that first night.....the night you took me to your flat and you showed me what it's like when someone actually loves you.....I'd have told you truthfully that I've never known what it is to be happy."

Sam stopped walking and looked at him closely. 

"But what about now? Even after everything that's happened since we've been together......such momentous things, such terrible things......."

"Yeah! I am. I am truly.  
I can look at my life, and what I have now, and I can honestly say that I'm happy. As long as I've got you, I feel like I've got a future Sam. That whatever happens I can cope with it, knowing I have your love and support. That's pretty big isn't it? For me anyway."

"You've got me Malcolm."

"I still can't look too far ahead. I'm too scared. I've never done it before, never dared. Anything I've ever had, or felt, has been snatched away, and that leaves you pretty cowardly. I've been bitten so many times....but I want.......I want something......."

"Malcolm, you don't have to say or do anything. I want nothing from you except your love. If I have that then I'm content. Until you're ready.........ready for whatever the next step is for you, whatever you want. Okay? You have been through so much, I'm not going to push you into anything. I want you to enjoy yourself, take your time, and be at peace." 

"But I want.......I want a next step.......there has to be one........soon......."

They reached the gate of their little property, and he opened it, stepping back and allowing her to pass through. 

"I'm not tired, Malc. Let's sit on the terrace for a bit, share a nightcap?" 

"Okay."

She disappeared inside, and came back with two glasses and a bottle.  
Malcolm was leaning back on the swing seat, gazing at the heavens above him, the inky blackness studded with jewels. He was deep in thought. 

"It's not fair though.....is it......?" He remarked, as if continuing aloud a conversation he was having inside his head. 

"What's not fair?" 

She was close. The scent of her perfume filling his nostrils. 

"Me, you. You being with me, with no guarantees. You're young still, Sam. You could have a boyfriend, get married, have kids, have a good and happy life......you could throw your future away on me. I was thinking about what Nancy said, when we stayed there, and what Angela said to me....."

Sam was silent. 

"Don't you think we should talk about it? The future.....what you want.....what I want......where we're going, or not going?" 

"I only know one thing. My future is with you. For as long as you'll have me.  
As for the rest? Well, I don't want to think about that yet, because it's early days.......it's been months we've been together......although it feels like forever.........and during those months, you've been through more than most people experience in a lifetime. I don't want to think about marriage, and children and all that stuff.....I'm not even entirely sure that's what I want from life, it isn't top priority, it never has been. If it happens, fine, but if it doesn't.......well.....it doesn't."

"You've been through it all too.......with me........" He shifted on the seat, pushing with his feet to make it swing. 

"Malcolm, you stole my heart so, so long ago. I gave it to you, of my own free will. I had no guarantees then, no hope that you would even love me back. But I was prepared to live with that.  
If I had any thoughts or dreams about anything other than being with you, by your side, then I dismissed them as unimportant.  
I can't say to you, that in five years time I might not turn round and say..... _'let's make a baby'_ but I don't know that......neither do you........because it's five years time and we don't know what will happen between now and then.  
I love you........you love me.......the future is the future.....we can't see into it.......no matter how hard we try. We can only live for the now. Today."

"But don't you want commitment......something concrete?" He was looking into her face, lines of worry writ large, the silvery moonlight the only illumination. 

"No!  
Other than you saying you love me. Not at the moment, maybe not ever. I don't know Malcolm. You asking me to marry you would be because of your sister, or what Angela said......not because it's want you want......it's what you THINK you ought to do......what you are being pressurised into doing. And that's not how it should be. What DID Angela say by the way?" 

"That if I let you slip away I was a fool........"

Sam gave a small laugh. 

"Malcolm, I'm not going anywhere......the implication there is that you somehow tie me down, to keep me here......and you don't have to do that!" 

"Fucking love you." He reached for her hand and held it very tight. 

"Fucking love you too. Idiot!" She dropped a kiss on his cheek. 

"Live with me Sam."

"What? What do you mean?" 

"When we go home....come and live with me......"

"I practically live with you already!" 

He stopped and turned to face her. 

"I want to wake up with you beside me, every day. Not sometimes at yours, sometimes at mine, or sometimes apart. I want us to live together, be together.....I want to make that commitment to you.  
Fuck! I don't know what the future holds Sam......but I know I worship you, and nothing would make me happier than to have you by my side, I never say forever, because my mind won't take it that far......but for as long as you want me......."

"Oh Malcolm! This is very sudden. Are you sure?" 

"Never been more sure of anything."

"But I'll not sell my place? I'll rent it out.......it belongs to me and I bought it with sweat and tears, that stupid flat means a lot to me!"

"Keep it in case it all goes tits up you mean?" 

"No! That's not what I mean. And you know it!" She gave his arm a little thump. 

"So you'll do it? Move in with me?" His face was eager now, pinched and expectant. 

"Yes Malcolm, if you're sure that's what you want....."

"Well, I want it to be what you want too......"

"You're what I want, where we live isn't that important to me."

"But it is to me. More so these last weeks. I've given it a great deal of thought. I'm old fashioned Sam, I know that. I'm from a generation where a bloke is supposed to take care of a woman, honour her, cherish her and be faithful and truthful to her and her alone. That's what I was bought up to.  
That's what I know, I can't help that."

"My dear man, and what woman wouldn't want that? To be cherished, and honoured? Times have changed, of course they have.....and that's only right.......I love working for you, I love working, our roles are blurred now, it's no more your job to look after me, than it is my job to do the hoovering....its not my job to do all the childcare, it's not yours to build a set of shelves.....it's a partnership, we share the load."

"It'll work though, won't it Sam? You and me......living together.......we'll have some fun......have a life.......that's all I really want......all I've ever really wanted.......and it's always escaped me."

His head dropped and his lip trembled with suppressed emotion. 

"You're damn right it'll work Malcolm. You and I are a formidable pair! Who could thwart us? And by God.....we'll have some good times......and lots of fun.......just by simply being together!  
It'll work because we make it work, through openness and honesty, and love and affection.  
Thick and thin.......like it's been right from the very start.  
We've always known it, from the beginning........we stand by each other, no matter what. 

Companions, friends, lovers.........for as long as it lasts."

"For as long as you want me." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, over and over, as he fought to control himself. 

"For as long as you want _me!_ " She put her arms around his neck and drew him into a long slow and deep snog. 

"Fucking love you!" She whispered, shakily, as they parted. 

"Fucking love you too Sam." He murmured in reply. 

 

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May I take this opportunity to thank sincerely everyone who has sent me comments and encouragement during the posting and writing of this story. I went through one or two crises of confidence during the process and peoples messages were enormously helpful. Thank you all. Xxxx

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank @underthekopje for her wonderful illustration for this fic. It's brilliant, and you are so talented. xx
> 
> I would also like to thank @flydye88 for making me a title picture for this story and providing the prompt which I've used for chapter six onwards. Xx


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